


Protegees

by GLEEAnna



Category: Glee
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Dalton Academy, Angst, Best Friends, Blangst, Dalton Academy, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Homeless Blaine, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Teacher-Student Relationship, abusive relationship - not Kurt and Blaine, runaway Blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2018-11-05 15:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 89
Words: 75,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11016573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GLEEAnna/pseuds/GLEEAnna
Summary: Blaine is in the midst of an abusive relationship with a teacher, when he and Kurt fall in love at Dalton Academy.  How far will Kurt go to protect him?  What will Blaine resort to, in order to escape his tormentor and be with the boy he loves?





	1. A Disappointment

**Author's Note:**

> This one is rather dark. Blaine has no family or anyone who cares about him, and is at Dalton on a scholarship. He is a junior, Kurt is a sophomore (yeah I know that I had the details wrong as it turned out - in the show, Kurt was a junior and Blaine was a sophomore, but this is what I went with at the time). 
> 
> Again, keep in mind. This is a fic about an abusive relationship between Blaine and a person in authority over him. If this is something you'd rather not read about, this fic is not for you.
> 
> Please also note! Chapters 1-89 comprise a complete story. "Part Two" starts with Chapter 90.

"I'm telling you, the boy is crazy about you, Kurt," Mercedes assured him. They were walking along the tree-lined walkways of Dalton, back in a secluded corner of the campus.

"You really think so?" Kurt asked doubtfully. "There it is. Blaine showed me this, even though I'm not supposed to know about it until Junior year." He pointed to a small gatehouse.

"Fascinating," Mercedes said dismissively. "You're turning into a regular worker drone in this place, aren't you?" At Kurt's startled look, she shrugged and indicated his uniform. "You look like everybody else. Getting into their weird little rituals and rules. I'm not sure I recognize you."

"I'm still me no matter how I'm dressed, Mercedes," he said irritably. "Maybe you don't recognize me because I'm not sticking out of a locker or dripping with slushie - - or because I'm actually happy."

"You saying you were never happy at McKinley?" Mercedes demanded, hurt. "You know I was your friend all along. Don't forget about that because you have new friends now. Or because you have a boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend, Mercedes. And - -"

"Sh," Mercedes said, frowning and turning around. "You hear that? Somebody arguing."

"I know we are - - " Kurt cut off, recognizing one of the voices. Followed by Mercedes, he climbed over a stone wall and walked cautiously to the gatehouse, and peeped around the corner, where he gasped and stared a heart-broken moment with Mercedes' sympathetic hand on his arm.

"Oh, Kurt - -" she whispered before he shook off her hand and ran back the way they came, with Mercedes struggling to catch up.


	2. Trapped

"Stop it," Blaine said, twisting his face away and shoving. He stood leaning against the gatehouse, out of breath from the passionate onslaught, and glared angrily. "I told you, it's over. I don't want this anymore, and you have to leave me alone."

The older man was breathless too, but managed to pant out, "Who the hell do you think you are?" The man was handsome, and might have been distinguished when he wasn't wild-eyed with anger, pushing back at his slightly graying hair with shaking hands, as he was now. "After everything I've done for you, you have the nerve to dump _me?"_

Blaine's eyes flickered uneasily and he softened his voice. "Look, I know I owe you a lot, Miles, but I can't help how I feel. You know things haven't been right between us for a long time, and there's somebody else I have feelings for- -"

"Somebody _else?_ " Miles shouted. "Oh, hell no. I _made_ you. You're nothing without me. After I spent three years making you _somebody_ worth even bothering with - - teaching you everything you know - - you think you'll walk away and give it all to some stranger? Who is it?"

"It doesn't matter, Miles - -"

"It's that little public-school queen that you're always hanging around with, isn't it?"

"Don't talk about him like that," Blaine said angrily.

Miles fell silent for a tense moment, and when he spoke again his voice was deadly quiet. "Okay, Blaine. I get it. You've been with me since you were fourteen … you want to sow a few wild oats with another kid your age. Go ahead and do him, get it over with, but I still expect to see you just as often as ever."

"I don't know what's going to happen with Kurt. I don't know if he feels the same as me, not for sure," Blaine said shakily. "But whatever happens, he's made me realize that I have to end it with you - - that I don't love you. I may have only known him a few weeks. But you never made me feel like he does, not in three years."

Miles raised a hand and Blaine flinched away, but the older man dropped the hand and laid it on Blaine's face wistfully.

"So beautiful. Like Tom Ford and Cary Grant had a baby," he said softly. "And yet, you were such a mess when I found you. Remember? Poor, uneducated, unkempt. You were nothing, until I showed you how to dress and act and got you into this school. You're still nothing, Blaine, _nothing_ , without me."

"Kurt doesn't talk to me like that," Blaine said faintly. "He doesn't try to make me feel bad about who I am."

"Maybe because he doesn't know who you really are," Miles said mockingly. "Just the face you've put on that I gave you."

"This is a waste of time. I said it's over, and that's it," Blaine said, trying to sound strong. He turned to go but Miles grabbed his arm roughly.

"Get this straight, Blaine. _I_ say when it's over – not you."

Blaine jerked his arm out of Miles's grasp, but the man kept talking after him. "You leave me, I pull your scholarship. You wanna go back to public school, loser?" he called cruelly. "It's a tough world out there without someone to take care of you."

Blaine slowed down, his hand on the gatehouse wall.

"That's right, Blainey. Back to your old group home, your old public school, no more music scholarship, no more _Warblers_ ," he said, making mocking jazz hands at him. "Think about how that'll be for a while before you decide. I'll give you a few days to think about what side of the bread the butter's on - - mine or that little twit who's caught your eye."

"If you pull my scholarship, I'll tell the school trustees about us," Blaine lashed out. "I was underage when it started- - you'll get fired."

Miles raised his eyebrows, annoyed. "If you open your mouth about how you got that scholarship, everyone will know you're … well, they have words for what you are. And Dalton doesn't give scholarships for that. You'll be let go, even if they believe you."

There were a few stray crows still lingering in the woods despite the cold weather, and Blaine could hear their cawing and beating wings as a flock of them flew out of the brush behind Miles, who stood expectantly waiting.

"I hate you," Blaine said shakily.

Miles smirked, moving closer and putting an arm around the boy's waist, ignoring the cringe he got in return. He placed a soft kiss on Blaine's cheek. "That's okay."

*  *  *   *   *  *  *

Mercedes hadn't been able to keep up with Kurt, and hurried, out of breath, out the gate of the Dalton campus where she'd seen him run out. Looking up and down the street, she saw him huddled with his knees against his chest, sitting under a tree in the park across the street.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Mercedes said, plopping down next to him on the cold, hard ground. "I know you liked him."

Kurt's thin white hand tightened over his arm, and she rubbed it gently. "It hurts when you realize the other person can't return your feelings," she said. "I know how that can be."

"I thought he was flirting with me, that he just was holding back from making a move because of - - everything going on with my old school," Kurt said, his voice muffled by his arms. "I feel like an idiot. I mean, look at what he has - - a grown up boyfriend, sophisticated, mature. I'm just a stupid kid to him."

"Kurt, don't you think he's a little _too_ old? I mean he looks like forty. Don't you think that's weird?"

Kurt looked up and wiped his nose on a bright purple pocket square he kept hidden in his jacket pocket, one outlet of his vivid personality that he clung to in secret. "He's the head of the music department here," he explained.

Mercedes' eyes widened. "Kurt, a _teacher_? In the department Blaine studies in? Don't you think that's kind of inappropriate?"

"Well, it's legal. Blaine's over sixteen," Kurt said dully. "If that's what he's into, older guys, then obviously there's no hope for me."

"I should go back there and tell him off but good," Mercedes said viciously. "He led you on - -"

"He never asked to be more than friends," Kurt pointed out. "It's not his fault I fell for him."

Loyal Mercedes shook her head emphatically. "It _is_ his fault. He flirted with you – let you think he was single – "

Wearily, Kurt got up. "It doesn't do any good to dwell on it. I'll just steer clear of him from now on," he said despondently. He couldn't bear the sight of Blaine now that he knew that he had misread the other boy's signals. He knew he wouldn't be able to look at him again without seeing him in someone else's arms, and he couldn't hide how that made him feel, he wasn't one who was able to make his feelings invisible. But he dreaded the next weeks without him. Dalton had been hard enough, the tough schoolwork, the uniforms, the 'new kid' strain, the living away from home. Dalton without Blaine as even a friend was going to be … completely empty.


	3. Exposed

Kurt squirreled himself away in the library whenever he wasn't in class, eating what passed for his meals from the vending machines in the lobby of his dorm to avoid the dining hall, and sneaking into his room just in time for lights-out, for the next couple of days.  He found himself ravenous with hunger one night, with a pounding headache, and ventured out of his room with a pocket-full of change, hoping to slip unnoticed down to the lobby. Passing the commons, he saw Blaine sitting on the couch reading a book and tried to scurry past without being seen.

"Hey, stranger. Where were you last night?" Blaine called after him, setting down his book.

Kurt groaned inwardly, but straightened up his spine and threw out his chin proudly.  He paused in the doorway. "Last night?"

"Warblers practice, remember?"

A frown passed over Kurt's face.

"I thought I'd see you there. Seems like nobody's seen you around much outside class. Everything okay?"

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. "Everything's fine, thanks for asking. I just had too much studying to make it to practice, that's all. If you don't mind, I'm going to my room now."

"Listen, Kurt, I don't mean to meddle or anything, and I know I told you not to try so hard. But I didn't mean not try at all. The guys are going to think you don't like them if you keep avoiding everybody all the time, and the Warblers – well, if you miss another practice, you'll get cut. There are rules here, you know."

"Did I ask you for advice on following rules?" Kurt snapped.

Blaine looked hurt. "No, but when I first came here, I was shy and … well, different from the other boys, coming from public school and all. I had to learn a lot, and I thought I'd save you some of the trouble I had fitting in. Kind of mentor you a little like – somebody – did for me when I was new."

The headache intensified.  "Maybe I don't want to 'fit in'. And maybe I don't need a _mentor_ as you call it."

"What's that mean?"

Kurt sneered, "You tell me, Blaine. That 'mentoring' you're talking about? Who gave it to you?"

Blaine went a little pale and shrugged, "he's not a student here … anymore."

"Really? What was his name, Blaine? How old was he?"

"We're not talking about me here," Blaine protested, starting to look annoyed. "I'm doing fine, you're the one having problems getting with the program and making friends, not me."

"I know what kind of friends you have – one in particular. In high places."

If Blaine had been pale before he was bright red suddenly. "What are you talking about? Go on – say what you have to say."

"I know all about you and Mr. Stevens." As Blaine started to splutter and deny, Kurt cut him off with a cold, "I saw you together at the gatehouse. I mean, honestly, Blaine, is that what you're into? He looks as old as my dad. It's gross."

"What do you know about it? You're just jealous," Blaine said, changing tactics and going on the offensive. "I have somebody who loves me and you've never had that. Don't judge something you don't understand." He picked up his book and stood to walk away, toward the exit to the first-floor dorms; but Kurt called after him.

"So why not shout this beautiful love to the rooftops? Oh yeah, because he's a teacher and you're just a student. You don't see anything wrong with that? If the administration knew about this –"

Blaine spun around, panic-stricken. "Don't, Kurt. Don't tell anybody," he pleaded.   He clutched the book to his chest, and hesitated. "Why are you so mad, Kurt?"

Kurt's jaw tightened. He refused to acknowledge that he was mad because Blaine had flirted so intensely with him that he felt betrayed, hurt. He refused to give Blaine that satisfaction. He improvised, "Because you didn't tell me. We're supposed to be friends, friends don't keep secrets."

Blaine nodded slowly, "You're right, but be fair, Kurt, how could I tell you about this? I - - I'm not supposed to tell," he said, his voice getting breathless. "I wanted to talk to you about it - - but he'll be furious if he finds out - -"

"I thought he loves you so much."

"Well, he does. In his way. But that's the number one rule, I can't tell," Blaine choked out, "I can't tell, I'll get in trouble, he'll get mad."

Kurt didn't say anything, and Blaine tried to explain, stumbling over the words.

"You don't understand. It's complicated. I owe him a lot. He helped me - - made me over so I fit in here, taught me so much - -"

Kurt stared, uncomprehending. "And what was so wrong with you the way you were? Isn't it better to be yourself, and then if people like you, it's for yourself, not for some fake act?"

Blaine stared down, defeated. "I don't have your courage, I guess."

Kurt smirked. "I guess not. But I won't need any 'mentoring' from here out. I'll just stick with being myself. You might want to try it."

The shot landed, he could see without any real satisfaction in hurting his ex-friend's feelings. Kurt knew that the friendship was over now; Blaine turned away, face still as stone, and down the hallway toward his room without another word, with Kurt staring after him unhappily.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *~ *~ * ~ * ~

Once he got to his room, Blaine sat down shakily on the bed, trying to process everything Kurt had said. He realized that he hadn't gotten Kurt to promise not to tell. He'd been too devastated by the look of contempt in Kurt's eyes. Any respect Kurt had for him was gone now, now that he knew that he was a coward and a phony. And he didn't even know the worst of it, that was the thing.

Of anyone at the school, Kurt would be the least judgmental, so if this story got out, about him and a teacher … he knew now that _everybody_ would turn against him. Worse, if it got back to administration, he might be expelled, he panicked. He was pretty sure Kurt wouldn't tell … but what if he did?

He got up and rummaged in his closet, way in the back for the oldest friend he had, his beat-up old guitar. He tuned it while his mind raced, then started playing, forgetting the rules for now. This was the one way he knew to calm down, to remember that no matter what else happened he would always have his music. His hands stilled over the strings when Wes in the next room banged on the wall to tell him to keep it down. He sat holding onto the guitar, hugging it against his chest, staring over at the mirror on his door. It held a reflection of a stranger holding his familiar guitar, the one he'd played for change in that subway station when Miles found him there and changed his life. He'd thought that he was happy, when all he was, was safe and well-fed, like Kurt's bird in its cage.

Caged-bird Kurt had quickly chafed under the system of rules that he had come to find comfort in here at Dalton. But Kurt had advantages that Blaine never had – a family who loved and accepted him. A real home.  Kurt dieted constantly, out of fear of putting on an ounce of fat on his slender frame, and out of disgust for the starchy, bland dining hall food -- something he might not mind if he had any idea what it was like to go to sleep hungry, or not to know where another meal was coming from. Kurt hated the school's uniforms, because he had choices of what clothes to wear, and didn't know what it was like to sleep in a car in the same clothes you had on yesterday and would have on again tomorrow. And Kurt hated the school's rules because he didn't know what true 'freedom' was like at its most extreme … like Janis sang, 'just another word for nothin' left to lose.' Blaine, on the other hand, had loved the structure, the certainty, the safety of life here at the school, in contrast to his old life.

But unexpectedly, he wanted out of the cage now; he wanted to fly free like Kurt. With Kurt. But it would never happen. There was no way out of his cage.  He couldn't go back to his old school, he couldn't go back to the group home he'd run away from and he wouldn't face life on the street now. He couldn't do it again. He'd learned too much about what he was missing, tied to this relationship with Miles.

The boy he'd tried to mentor had taught him that, but not how to break free when there was no safety net for him.


	4. Whiskey Rebellion

Kurt kept isolating himself at school over the next couple of days.  Guilt over his nasty treatment of Blaine ate at him now, along with the jealousy and hurt that had tormented him before. He dreaded the next time he would have to see Blaine, in a multi-grade music theory class.  To make matters worse, Mr. Stevens was the teacher. He cursed the day Blaine had talked him into signing up for the class, the only music elective available that they both could attend. Not only was the class difficult and tedious, he now would have to endure looking at both Blaine and his middle-aged lover in the same room for an hour.

He walked with leaden feet into the music room.  By the door, he spotted a seat already boxed in by three other boys. He sank into it gratefully and glanced around furtively as the bell rang. He felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when he saw Blaine wasn't in class today. He turned his attention to the front of the room where Mr. Stevens was starting class.  But he didn't really hear the words, instead studying the lecturer closely.

Miles Stevens was a good-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and a razor-sharp sardonic wit, someone Kurt had found rather intriguing before he knew how the man knew Blaine. Kurt frowned slightly, thinking back to the conversation several days ago in the lounge, and something Blaine had let drop. Blaine had said that Miles mentored him from the time he came to Dalton, but … Blaine had come here three years ago, hadn't he? He would have been just a kid then … exactly how long had this … situation … been going on? He wondered with a slightly sick feeling. Glancing at the refined-looking, elegant man at the front of the room, he shook his head. _It must have turned romantic between them recently,_ he thought uncertainly.

The door to the classroom swung open, so abruptly that it hit the wall with a clatter, and all heads in the room turned toward it. Kurt blinked, goggle-eyed, at Blaine's appearance as he swayed slightly in the doorway, gripping the door jamb with one hand, his messenger bag dangling from the other.

Blaine looked right at Kurt and then away again, reaching for the doorknob. "Sorry, Mr. Stevens," he said, his voice sounding strange and thickened. He shut the door solicitously and turned back around, running a hand through wild, curly dark hair that looked like Blaine had just got out of bed and come straight to class. He was unshaven, Kurt saw with shock, and his shirt looked rumpled and slept-in. He trudged past Kurt and sat in a seat front and center, with a thud.

The silence in the class was electric; appearing for class looking that unkempt, in this school, was grounds in itself for discipline. Being late was another. And the glassy look in Blaine's eyes, his slurred speech, indicated he was hung over or worse, which was grounds for more than just the standard demerits. The group waited as Blaine and Mr. Stevens stared each other down, Blaine looking defiant and Mr. Stevens looking enraged, before dragging his eyes from Blaine's face and continuing the lecture without commentary on Blaine's transgressions. The other boys were glancing at each other whenever Mr. Stevens turned away to point to the board, but Kurt focused on Blaine, worried. Blaine's head was drooping toward the desk drowsily, and he was holding onto his desk tightly as if to keep from falling out of his seat. There could be no doubt he was drunk, and it was ten in the morning.

Kurt became more and more nervous and worried as the lecture droned on, and finally it ended, with Blaine and Kurt both jumping in their seats at the ring of the bell.

"Chapter 9 for next week," Stevens said. "Mr. Anderson. you wait after class."

Kurt gathered his book and notebook into his bag and went out the door, which Stevens closed behind him. He started slowly down the hall, but something made him hesitate and creep back to the classroom and hover just outside to listen.


	5. Intervention

The room seemed to sway and shimmer like the air over a hot car hood as Blaine watched Miles return to stand in front of his desk and lean against it, his arms crossed. He blinked and focused, knowing from that disapproving look that he was in trouble again.

"What are you doing, Blaine? What's all this acting out about?"

Blaine twirled a lock of his hair in his fingers and shrugged.

"I told you, if you need to get that kid Kurt out of your system, I'll look the other way for a little while and let you. So what's the problem? Talk to me."

Blaine rolled his eyes.  "Number one, Kurt's not interested in being with someone like me. He wants somebody who thinks for himself, not some old guy's robot plaything like you turned me into."

After a pause, Miles prompted, "Okay; then what's number two?"

"Number two is that I can't sleep - - I got drunk last night because I couldn't take it anymore. Miles … I … I'm tired."

"C'mon, Blaine. You're seventeen. You don't know what tired is. So you're up nights thinking about this little crush, is that it?"

"That's part of it. Mainly I'm tired of pretending. Pretending to be something I'm not. Pretending with you." He rubbed his eyes and pleaded, "Can't you see how tired I am of all this? Can't you just let me go?"

"You finished whining now?"

Blaine sighed, waiting for the verbal abuse, and tuned out as Miles started in. He knew it all already, could tell where in the tirade Miles was by the tone if not the words. How he was nothing when Miles found him, how he'd be nothing without him now, how he should be grateful. How if he didn't shape up and pull himself together, Miles would have no choice but to punish him by taking away his scholarship. It was weird how Miles sounded like a father, even if a cruel and harsh one, and a jealous, possessive boyfriend all at the same time. Blaine knew it didn't matter and that there was no point in arguing anymore; he knew everything Miles said was true and he had to just take it … it wasn't like he had any options or that anybody else really cared about him. Miles slammed a hand on the desk in front of him.

"Are you listening to me, damn it? You useless piece of - -"

"Excuse me," a flute-like voice interjected. Both Blaine and Miles turned to see Kurt striding into the room, a determined switch in his hips as he walked. "I left my good pen in here," he was saying, glancing around his desk. "That's odd, maybe I dropped it in the hall. Hm." The slender boy put a hand on his hip and swiveled slightly, looking right at Blaine, who looked down in shame. Kurt tilted his head and said sharply, "Hey, Blaine, are you okay? I hear a bug's going around, you'll want to be careful. Maybe you ought to go back to your dorm and lie down … you need me to walk you back there when you and Mr. Stevens are done? You look a little green around the gills."

Blaine's head was pounding, or was it his heart? It must be his heart, it was warming him all over to see Kurt and hear him talking to him again. He was bursting with grateful smiles at Kurt, but then ducked his head and his smile faded when he caught Miles' eye.

"If you need another minute I'll be right outside the door," Kurt said, his eyes narrowed and steely, and staring an astonished Miles in the face. Blaine's mouth fell open and he nodded speechlessly.

Miles stared at Kurt for a long moment and then jerked a careless hand at Blaine. "You can go, Blaine. But don't show up in my class in this condition again. Consider this a warning."

Kurt stepped in front of Miles and peered at Blaine closely. "You coming along? You look like you could use some water," he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bottled water. "Drink that while we walk. You need to rehydrate."

Blaine obediently downed some water and stood, taking Kurt's hand and letting himself be led out of the room. Kurt paused at the door, murmuring, "You first," and sending a murderous glare back at Miles before following.


	6. WWKD

They were both keenly aware of the eyes on them as they down the blinding-white spiral of stairs, Blaine holding onto Kurt with one hand and onto the banister with the other, unsteady and unfocused. The buzzing crowd parted to let them by, and Kurt resolutely led the swaying boy out the door toward the dorms.

"Kurt - -" Blaine said, his voice thick and hoarse, but Kurt shook his head.

"Not until we can really have this out," he said crisply, and Blaine subsided, following meekly like a well-trained dog behind its master.

He tried again once they were in the room, but Kurt shook his head, shutting the door and moving to take off Blaine's jacket. "You're drunk." He took a hanger out of Blaine's closet and carefully hung up the jacket.

"Yes. A little," Blaine admitted, "But - -"

Kurt pulled a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt out of Blaine's dresser. "Go in the bathroom. Change into these, and come back," he ordered, sitting down primly on the bed and crossing his legs.

A few minutes later, Blaine returned to the room, looking sheepish, and Kurt patted the bed next to him.

"Sit down."

Blaine lingered by the closet a moment, reaching just inside the door and picking up his guitar, looping the strap over his shoulder and strumming nervously.

"It helps me relax," he half-sang, seeing Kurt's questioning look.

"I didn't even know you played," Kurt said as Blaine climbed on the bed and scooted past Kurt, settling with his back against the wall and never breaking the rambling tune he was playing. "What's that you're playing? I don't recognize it."

"Something I wrote. A long time ago."

They sat quietly, listening to the haunting melody of the guitar.

"Blaine, why are you sleeping with that guy?"

The hands stilled on the guitar. "That's pretty blunt."

"I pride myself on my directness," Kurt said. "And here's another blunt truth: he doesn't love you."

"He loves me –"

"Blaine. He doesn't really love you. Love - - doesn't hurt, and he's _hurting_ you."

Years of conditioning made Blaine flush defensively. Part of him felt the urge to stand up for Miles, to lash out and point out that Kurt was speaking from no experience, but he looked into Kurt's wise young face and instead looked away and plucked aimlessly at the guitar strings. The truth came out of his mouth instead of the defenses. "I wouldn't know. That's the closest thing to love I've ever had … maybe I'll ever have."

"How can you say that? You're so amazing - - "

Blaine's eyes flashed back to his. "You don't know what I am."

"Tell me, then," Kurt whispered, sliding back on the bed and propping himself against the wall shoulder to shoulder with Blaine, watching the slim hands moving up and down the guitar neck while the boy's eyes showed his mind was on other things, bitter memories. "What about your family? Do they know about you and Miles?"

"I haven't seen my mother in years. Never knew my father," Blaine said indifferently. "CPS took me out of the house when I was eight, I ended up in the foster care system. Some of the homes were okay, but some of them were pretty bad." The dancing fingers never stilled their music while Blaine talked on, his guard down, about the beatings and humiliations and abuse at what passed for home and at school.

"It got so bad I ended up running away, living on the street," he said. "I did whatever I had to, to survive. Shoplifting. Busking. A little street hustling when I got hungry enough or cold enough. It was one way to get out of the cold for a while."

Kurt flinched a little and Blaine's lips curled into a smirk.

"I was fourteen and singing in a subway terminal with my friend here," he said, nodding at the guitar. "Miles took me back to his hotel room in New York - - he was conducting there for the summer - - and I was like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. The nice hotel, the handsome big shot client. And when it was time for him to go back to Dalton, he had me put in an application for a scholarship. And he made sure I got it, too."

"Can he really take that away, Blaine? You're the best singer in the school, you deserve that scholarship."

Blaine's face darkened. "I didn't get it for my singing, though," he choked, putting down the guitar finally and looking anxiously at Kurt. "What should I do, Kurt? What would _you_ do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive comments welcome!


	7. That's How it Works

"What would you do, Kurt?"

Kurt stared back at Blaine, speechless at first. Blaine, his one-time mentor, cool, collected, 'been-there-done-that' Blaine, needed _his_ help now. At Blaine's urging, Kurt had run to Dalton, run away from his problems at McKinley, and left behind his unhinged teenage bully because the system simply had failed him. The system wasn't just failing to help with this problem. The system, this corrupt, predatory teacher _was_ the problem, and now Blaine was looking at _him_ with blind trust, as if Kurt had all the answers. Blaine was depending on _him_. But what was the answer?

"We … could try going to the Dean," he finally mumbled unconvincingly.  

Blaine's face fell.  "I don't know if that's a good idea," Blaine said, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.  

"I don't see what other choice you have.  You need somebody in authority here at the school to help you with Mr. Stevens," Kurt persisted.

"Like the authorities at your old school helped you with Karofsky?  How'd that work out for you?" Blaine said sarcastically.  

"That's different.  He was just a kid - -"

"It's close enough," Blaine interrupted him.  "If not worse.  Karofsky is  _dangerous_.  Kurt, he threatened to _murder_ you! And _he's_ the one still walking around McKinley, and _you're_ the one who had to leave.   It was a he said/ he said situation, and they won't do anything if there's no proof. That's how it works."  

They sat in silence as Kurt tried to think of what to say, how to convince Blaine to report this predator, when Blaine spoke again.

"And in one way, I'm at an even bigger disadvantage.  Karofsky was just a kid whose dad could afford a lawyer.  Miles ...  he has major connections here.   Do you know who his great-grandfather was?"

Kurt shrugged.  "Okay, who?"

"Nathaniel Dalton," Blaine said solemnly, nodding.

"Nathaniel Dalton?"

Blaine widened his eyes and gestured around the room.  "Nathaniel _Dalton_.  The founder of Dalton Academy.  Plus, Miles' dad and uncle are on the Board of Directors.  The Dean works for them.  With his family running the place, he won't get kicked out of the school based on an accusation without solid proof."

"Well, I saw him kiss you.  So did Mercedes - -"

"Not enough.  You're my friends, they'll say I got you to back me up.  How many people saw Karofsky hit or push you, or throw slushies on you?  Did that make any difference?"

Kurt thought hard some more.  "You can't find some kind of hard evidence?  Texts or e-mails, or phone calls, maybe?"

"He has burner phones for when he wants to get in touch with me.  I don't even know his home or cell number. He has a wife, kids - he doesn't want to chance one of them finding out about me."

"There has to be something.  Does ... does he support you financially?  Maybe there's a paper trail there."

Blaine reddened.  "Not directly.  The scholarship he got for me covers my school supplies and uniforms, and my tuition and room and board here.  He arranged a work-study job for my spending money."

"You say he's got a wife?"

"Yeah.  Sylvia.  They were high school sweethearts - he didn't know he was bi, or he was in denial.  He ..." Blaine blushed.  "He says he didn't know until he met me and ..." he ducked his head, embarrassed but looking a little bit proud.  "I swept him off his feet."

"You swept _him?_   Blaine, you were a little kid!  Homeless and desperate - -" Kurt said, contempt at Miles creeping into his voice.  "He actually is suggesting _you_ seduced  _him_?  Turned him bisexual?  C'mon!  Are you listening to yourself?"  

Blaine visibly deflated.  "I guess that's pretty stupid."

"I'm not saying that.  It's just.  Anything that happened between you, is on him.  He was the adult and you were a child."

"I guess so," Blaine said absently, his face turning blank and dead-looking. "You know, maybe I should just take a nap now.  I'm not feeling too great."

"But we haven't figured this out yet.  Maybe you can tell him you'll go to his wife with the truth if he doesn't stop making you be with him."

"Kurt - no.  I couldn't out him like that.  He - isn't all bad.  He takes care of me.  I owe him my whole life here."

"You owe him nothing," Kurt said.  "Don't protect him, Blaine, please."

 

"I'm not just protecting him. I'm not proud of this but... I'm afraid of what'll happen to me if this gets out," Blaine admitted.  "I might get expelled, or lose my scholarship.  Even if that doesn't happen, what if ... the other guys at school found out?   The Warblers look up to me now.  If they knew I'm just a ... a kept boy for a teacher, they'd hate me."

"They won't.  I don't hate you."

Blaine smirked sadly.  "You did when you first found out."

"That -- that was - - I realize now that was wrong of me.  None of this is your fault.  Don't let that keep you from going after Miles and seeing he gets punished for what he's done."

"So you forgive me?  We're best friends again, right Kurt?  You don't know how much it hurt when you wouldn't talk to me." Blaine turned in the bed and shyly picked up the tie to Kurt's school uniform.  "Are we best friends again, like before?"  He looked up into Kurt's face, and as always, Kurt was undone by those eyes that somehow were soft and kind and sparkling and teasing and imploring all at once.  

"Of course," Kurt whispered, his voice hoarse for some reason.  

"You have a free period now, don't you?" Blaine slid the silky material of the tie through his fingers, up, then down again.  

"Yes, we have time to talk this out some more if you want.  We can figure this out together."

"I'm sleepy," Blaine said, tugging the tie gently, then drawing Kurt down to lie next to him, nose-to-nose.  "Stay with me until I go to sleep? Please, Kurt, I need you so much.  I'm so tired, so sick ... please lie here with me a while.  I just want to be near you and not think about ... about that for a while.  Please?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: This story is not meant to suggest that anyone involved is making the best choices. Blaine and Kurt should go for help from a trusted adult, such as Kurt's father or another teacher, an administrator or counselor, or the police.


	8. Complications

Kurt let the subject drop, allowing exhausted, hungover Blaine to drift off to a peaceful-looking sleep in his arms.   After watching over his friend's sleep for a time, he slipped out of the room and to his next class, Advanced American History.  If Blaine seemed relieved and peaceful, having unburdened his secret to someone, Kurt was now more tormented than ever, and the class went unheeded as he tried to figure out what on earth to do now.  His old friend Holly Holiday was the substitute teacher, dressed up today as Harriet Beecher Stowe, but he paid no attention.

He'd all but promised to keep Blaine's secrets, told to him in implied confidence.  Even before this, he'd kept his mouth shut about what he and Mercedes had seen at the gatehouse.  He had thought Blaine was happy with Miles, and it wasn't his place to butt in.  But that was before he knew that their affair had begun when Blaine was so very young and vulnerable in every sense of the word, and that Blaine wanted his freedom but was too afraid to fight for it.

_Did he have the right to break this confidence?  To turn Miles in, and disrupt Blaine's whole life when he wasn't ready?_

_Did he have the right to stay quiet, and allow that monster to continue to get away with what he's done?_

"Mr. Hummel!" Holly's voice was sharp.

He looked up.  "Yes, Ms. Holiday?" 

"Do you have an answer to the question?  Can you name the major cause of the American Civil War?"

It was a softball question.  But everything and anything brought up thoughts of Blaine right now, he couldn't focus on anything else.  Ms. Holiday was still waiting, though.  

"I ... I guess ... slavery," Kurt mumbled.  "The South wanted to keep having slaves.  And ... and the North knew that was wrong.  They had to make it stop.  No matter what, or how hard it was to - - get involved.  They couldn't just ... stand there and let it happen," he said, tears welling up.  "They couldn't, because then it - it'll never stop."

The bell rang and the boys started putting their books in their messenger bags.  Kurt was fastening the buckle on his bag when Miss Holiday put a hand on his desk.  "Stay after class a minute.  You have lunch next block, right?"

"I - was hoping I could go visit a sick friend at lunch," Kurt said, trying to keep his voice from trembling.   The door closed behind the last student and Holly took her lacy white cap off her head, and sat in the desk next to his.  She was ridiculous in her long ringleted wig and her hoop skirts, but she was listening at least.  Could he trust her with this secret?  He needed help, needed to know what to do.

"Is everything okay, Kurt?  You seemed ... kind of out of it today.  And you look like you're about to cry.  Do you need to talk about anything?"

"Yes.  But it's ... something I was told in confidence.  Somebody -a friend - is in trouble, and I don't know what to do."

Holly nodded.  "I see.  Kurt, my experience is that in general, keeping a secret isn't as important as getting help for someone who needs it.  Can you tell me who the friend is?"

"I - I can't.  Not yet.  But if - my friend - is willing to talk to you - -?"

"Anytime," Holly said reassuringly.  "My door is open."  She opened her old-timey reticule and took out a pen and paper.  "Here's my phone number.  Call me if your friend wants to talk to me about this."

Kurt took it and tried to smile at her, before slowly making his way out the door.  He left the building and headed toward the dorms.  Holly might be a good choice to talk to about this.  Or maybe Dad, or even Will, he thought dubiously.  Somebody who could help him convince Blaine to get help.  He'd ask Blaine when he saw him.  

After stopping at the dining hall and taking two lunches to go, he headed back toward the dormitories.  The campus was beautiful as always, old buildings - student dormitories, the library, the gymnasium, and small cottages for some of the faculty all built in the late 19th or early 20th century - were nestled along winding pathways lined by trees turning fiery colors.  But he barely registered his surroundings.  

Almost at the dorm, he passed a faculty cottage, stone, probably two or three bedrooms, and was surprised to hear the sound of a young voice singing along with a piano.  He stopped to listen.  The voice wasn't familiar to him, but sounded like a very young man.  Countertenor, like himself, perfect pitch, and accompanied by a master pianist.  Curious, he paused for a while and listened to the song, wondering who the singer might be, before moving on to get to the dorm and check on Blaine before lunch was over.

He had only gone a short distance before he saw the back exit of the dorm up ahead ... and Miles Stevens was emerging from it, shoving a key card in his pocket and starting to turn his way.  

Kurt quickly stepped off the path and behind the shrubbery, crouching down to watch Miles pass by ... and turn down the path to the faculty cottage he had just passed.  Miles lived within easy walking distance of their dorm?   Glancing back, he realized that at this bend in the pathway, he could see both the dorm and Miles' house.  And with a sinking heart he realized, Miles had gotten hold of a dorm key; and that Blaine lived on the ground floor of the dorm, right next to the back door at the end of the hall.  Easy access without too much risk of anyone seeing him come or go, particularly in the middle of the day like this when everyone was at class or lunch.  Looking toward the dorm, he could see Blaine leaned against the window, dully staring out, before the curtains fluttered shut again.

Turning his eyes back to the cottage, he watched as Miles fumbled at his pocket and pulled out his key, only to have the door open.  The music had stopped, Kurt realized, and a beautiful dark haired woman, about forty, was in the doorway.  She turned up her face for a kiss from Miles.  

Kurt was transfixed, as a boy of about fourteen or so appeared in the doorway behind the woman.  He was tall, thin, with a Dalton uniform, and he flashed a smile at Miles as he passed by.  Kurt remembered him from someplace, but before he could search his memory, he heard Miles' voice. 

"Didn't expect to see you here this time of day.  Getting in some last-minute practice before the audition?"

The boy was nodding and taking off at a half-run.  "Thanks, Dad.  I'll see you later."

"You'll kill it this time, son.  I was a Warbler myself - let's carry on that tradition," Miles called after him, and Oliver waved back and hurried down the pathway past where Kurt was hidden.  

Kurt remembered Oliver Stevens now.  They had both tried out for an empty spot on the Warblers when he'd first arrived at the school, and Kurt had beaten him and the other fifteen applicants.  But he knew it had been a close call; Oliver was extremely talented with a high, angelic voice and impressive range.  The Warbler council had been split; Wes had voted for Oliver; David for Kurt; and Thad for yet a third contender.  Pursuant to the Byzantine rules of the club, the lead singer, Blaine, had been called in to cast the deciding vote and had picked Kurt. But since then, one of the freshman Warblers had withdrawn from school, citing homesickness, leaving another empty spot, and auditions for a replacement were being held tonight at six.  Miles' son was going to try again to be a Warbler ... alongside his father's secret lover.

Once Oliver was safely out of sight and Miles inside his cottage, Kurt crept from the bushes, brushing twigs and leaves from his uniform, and hurried down the path to the dorm, using his own key card to enter the back way and go to Blaine's room instead of his own on the second floor above Blaine's.   He knocked on the door.  

"I said go away!" a strangled-sounding voice came from within.  "I'm sick and I need to sleep!"

"It's me, Kurt," he called quickly.  "Can I come in?"

He heard the bed creak and Blaine appeared.  Kurt's heart sank.  Blaine was in his boxers and undershirt, even more disheveled than when he'd left him an hour ago.  The sweatpants he'd given Blaine earlier, were now lying on the floor. The waistband was ripped. "Blaine.  Did.  Did he touch you?"  He put the lunches and his messenger bag on the desk.  

"What do you think?" Blaine said sourly.  He reached for the door and grabbed a robe off the back of it, pulling it on.  "That's what I'm here for."  He grabbed a mesh bag and a towel and stalked past Kurt into the hallway.  Kurt scurried after him.  Blaine's room was on the end of the hall and around a corner, the type of room generally reserved for a resident assistant.  

"Did Miles make sure you were in that room, away from the rest of the rooms on the hall?" Kurt whispered fiercely.  

"If he could have gotten me my own house without looking suspicious, he probably would've, so he could have me without having to sneak into the dorms.  Luckily, me living here and him living with his family cuts down how much I have to see him," Blaine answered coolly.  "I was surprised enough when he showed up here in the middle of the day, when people might see him come or go, to be honest.  He's getting sloppy."   They entered the bathroom.  Three urinals, three bathroom stalls, and three shower stalls at the far end.  Blaine flung the towel over the shower curtain rod.  "He actually stopped by in the first place to make sure you were going to keep quiet. I told him you didn't hear anything. In the second place he wanted to tell me to get his son into the Warblers.  His son's Oliver Stevens, do you remember him from your audition?  Miles was annoyed when I voted against him and for you last time.  I admit I didn't want Miles' son harmonizing with me after school every day.  But you were so much better, that I voted for you with a clean conscience."  He turned a brilliant, flirtatious smile on Kurt.  But it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Blaine, this is ... crazy.  He just raped you, and you're acting like it's nothing, like nothing happened - how - "

"It's ... not exactly rape, Kurt.  Don't exaggerate."  Blaine slipped off the robe and hung it on the hook outside one of the stalls, and pulled back the shower curtain to hang the mesh bag inside.  

"Did you want to do it?" Kurt challenged him.  Blaine's face went pale and he bit his lip.  

"Well, no, but he insisted. I gave in and just laid there and took it."  Blaine pulled off his tee-shirt, and Kurt blushed.  Blaine smiled a weak little smile.  "Look, Kurt, I know this is shocking to you, but I'm used to it.  I'm a prostitute, when you get down to it.   It's like any other job, it's work, not fun, but you go to a happy place in your head while it's happening, and get through it.  It's okay."  He turned to put on the water in the shower, and Kurt gasped.   

"Blaine, he ... he left bruises," Kurt said, sickened.  "On your ... your arms  - -" he reached and took Blaine's wrist, turning it to show the rising red marks, turning to bruises where someone had ... held Blaine down.  "Is this why you wear your full uniform everywhere you go, Blaine?  To cover up these marks?"  

"Can I have some privacy, please?"  Blaine snapped, jerking his arm out of Kurt's hand.  "Or ... do you want to watch?"  Blaine's already huge, beautiful hazel eyes widened still further as he raised his eyebrows.  "Is that why you followed me in here, Kurt?  Do you want something in exchange for your silence?  I know.  You want to watch me in the shower, maybe touch me like Miles does?"  He shrugged and gave a sneering, taunting grin.  He reached for Kurt's jacket, but Kurt shoved his hand away, losing his temper.

"Don't ever compare me to that animal," he shouted, reckless of the echoing noise in the bathroom.  He was aghast when Blaine cowered away, terrified, and stumbled into the tiled floor of the stall, with his arms over his head and the hot water showering down on him.  

"Blaine - I'm sorry - - I shouldn't have raised my voice," he said, horrified.  

"I never thought you'd yell at me like that," Blaine sobbed.  "You're still mad at me!  But I can't help it!  He  _owns_ me, don't you understand that?  I have to do it or my life here is over!  I can't let that happen, this is my home, can't you just try to understand that and not judge me?"

Kurt shut off the water and stepped into the shower, squatting down next to his weeping friend.  "I'm angry, but at  _him_.  And I'm so, so worried about you, what this is doing to you.  You don't seem to get that you have a right not to be abused, or hurt or exploited by anybody.  You have the right to say no, Blaine!  Please, please, let me tell someone about this so we can get help for you!"

He fell silent, as Blaine scooted closer pulling Kurt's arm around his shivering shoulders.  Kurt was afraid at first that Blaine would offer sex again as a bargaining chip, or to change the subject.  But the boy was quiet for a long moment.  Finally, he spoke, looking up directly into Kurt's eyes.

"If you tell anybody this I will kill myself," Blaine said clearly and deliberately.  "I mean it."

Blaine rested his head on Kurt's shoulder, as Kurt wracked his brain for something, anything to say to that.   Finally, he whispered, "I won't tell, at least not without warning you first.  I promise that much.  Now get up and finish your shower, and then come back to the dorm and have something to eat," he fussed, and Blaine beamed up at him with what Kurt recognized as pure idol worship and as-yet unspoken love.  He'd heard Blaine tell Miles that he wanted to be with Kurt.  And if things were even halfway normal, he would want to be with Blaine too.

But .. he wondered.  Were Blaine's feelings for him real love, or just a poor beaten-down boy's gratitude for friendship and common decent kindness for a change?  The thought made him ache inside, but it wasn't important now.  He would take care of Blaine as much as he could on hisown, and hope to find a way to break him free as soon as possible.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constructive comments are eagerly welcomed!


	9. Once a Warbler

Blaine walked alongside his again-best-friend, Kurt Hummel, on the way to Warbler practice and auditions.  

He was so happy, happier than he'd been in a long time.   It had been a terrible morning, dealing with his hangover, especially having to be with an annoyed Miles while fighting a sick headache and stomachache.  But, what did that matter, when Kurt had come by and was so sweet to him afterwards, so kind.  Kurt had even brought him lunch in his dorm room.  And best of all, Kurt came back after class and collected him for dinner at the dining hall.   Yes, Kurt had forgiven him and seemed to understand his situation, or at least wasn't judging him for it.   And now here he was, walking with Kurt, the most wonderful boy in Ohio.  In the world.  He sneaked a look sideways, and his happiness dimmed a little.  Kurt looked like he'd aged ten years in the last few days.  

He knew Kurt was worried about him, and felt bad about keeping the secret about Miles.  That really couldn't be helped, since Kurt had stumbled onto the truth.  He wished Kurt didn't know, didn't have to think about him ... that way, with Miles.  He was sure that Kurt liked him,  _really_ liked him, before this embarrassing situation had revealed itself, but he was getting the distinct impression that this whole mess had turned Kurt off, big time.  

At least he and Kurt were friends again, thankfully.  Best friends.  Blaine would be willing to settle for that, if he had to.  But.  Miles was ruining his chances for something more with Kurt.  Sure, Kurt had a crush on him, anybody could see that, but now?  No normal person would be interested romantically in someone with this much baggage.  Actually, baggage was the understatement of the year.  Most people had a little bit of baggage.  He had a whole baggage compartment.  He sighed.  Why couldn't things ever be simple?

"Hey," he said softly, nudging Kurt's hand with his.  "Don't be sad.  Please, smile?  Try not to think about ... that other thing?"  He stealthily hooked a finger around Kurt's pinky.  Kurt didn't shake him off, and Blaine thought his heart would explode with the thrill of almost holding hands with a boy he liked.   More than liked, he admitted readily to himself.   _I love you so much_ , he thought wistfully.  It wasn't the right time to tell Kurt, so soon after he found out about Miles.  But he could think it at Kurt all he wanted to.

"It's hard not to think about it," Kurt was saying.  "I'm so worried about you, Blaine.  I really want to figure something out so you won't have to live like this."

"Hey, Wes!" Blaine cut him off, waving, but then the words died in his throat.  Wes had brought his girlfriend.  Oliver's older sister, Poppy.  And behind them, were Oliver and his dad.  

"Hello, Blaine.  Kurt, I don't think you know my girlfriend, Poppy Stevens?"

Kurt nodded mutely, and Poppy looked slightly offended at his cold reception.  Wes opened the door to the Common Room and Poppy passed through it with Oliver.  

"Um.  Non-Warblers aren't allowed at auditions, are they?" Kurt said, giving Miles a dirty look.  

"Just here for moral support," Miles said smoothly.  "And to offer my services as a faculty advisor."

  
"The Warblers don't have faculty advisors," Kurt said, his voice a little too loud.  "We have an independent council.  Wes, tell Mr. Stevens - -"

"And of course I was a Warbler myself when I was a student here.  Once a Warbler, always a Warbler, right, Wes?"

Wes looked uncomfortably between Kurt and Mr. Stevens, then back toward the common room, where Poppy was seated on one of the couches next to Oliver.  "We - - do need to put it to a vote, Mr. Stevens, but I'm sure everyone will agree the Warblers will benefit from a faculty advisor of your credentials.  Right, Kurt?" he said pointedly.

"The whole point of the Warblers is we're student-run!" Kurt insisted.  "We don't need a teacher hanging around and interfering with our club!"

"Let's see what the rest of the Warblers say," Miles said, with a dismissive laugh.  "I'm sure Blaine won't object, for one, right Blaine?"

Looking down, Blaine was silent, and Miles grinned and reached out to slap Blaine on the shoulder.  "Great.  Let's head in and start these auditions, boys."

 


	10. Debate

Kurt pulled at Blaine's hand, drawing him to the side.  "Blaine, are you okay with going in?  If you want to leave, I can stay here and argue against Miles being an advisor.  I know ... you don't want to say anything against him, but I could.  You could go back to your room and I'll be by later."

"The Warblers are my family, Kurt," Blaine said softly.  "My friends.  If I let him chase me away ...  I'll lose that."

Kurt searched his face and nodded.  "But we sit where you don't have to look directly at him," he insisted, clutching Blaine's hand against his chest.  Blaine looked down at their clasped hands and smiled with a softness that somehow tore at Kurt's heart.  Blaine edged closer, and Kurt could smell the sweet-scented pomade in his hair, could count every long, dark eyelash over his downcast eyes.

 "You think of everything," Blaine whispered, and looked up and into his eyes. The world slowed down, narrowed, to just the two of them.  Blaine tightened his grip on Kurt's hand.

"Kurt.  I - - I - -"

The sound of thudding footsteps echoed down the spiral staircase where Blaine had first taken his hand, and Trent skidded to a halt near the open door.  "Just made it," he said breathlessly.  "Um, did I interrupt something?"

"No," Kurt said quickly -- just as Blaine said, "Yes."  

Trent shrugged and headed into the common room, and Blaine looked sadly at Kurt.   The sound of a gavel banging on the council's table echoed behind them, calling the Warblers to order.  "The meeting's about to begin," Kurt said reluctantly.  "You're sure you want to go in?  We could both leave - - go for a walk, maybe the Lima Bean - -"  

"I'm not running away.  Not this time.  He's not taking this from me.  But ... I'll take a rain check on that walk and coffee date."  

Kurt startled, but didn't correct him, and Blaine smiled, leading Kurt into the common room, hand-in-hand, just like the first time Kurt had entered it.  

Miles was standing by the council's table, with Wes, Thad and David already in their seats.  The rowdy Warblers were still cavorting about like preppy human puppies, and plenty of seats were still available.  Blaine guided Kurt toward a chair by the windows, pulling it out and gesturing for Kurt to have a seat.  As he so often did, Blaine perched on the arm of the chair rather than take a seat himself.  Today, he was half turned away from the council table, still holding Kurt's hand tightly.  

Jeff tumbled by and pulled up short, grinning at the two of them.  "So ... does this mean you two stopped circling each other and finally made it official?"

Kurt glanced up at Blaine's pale, tense face.  

"Did I say something wrong?" 

"Jeff ... Blaine's been fighting a ... migraine headache.   We're just going to sit over here out of the way, okay?" Kurt said.

"Oh, yeah ... I heard that you were under the weather in Stevens' class today.  Hope you feel better, Blaine," Jeff said, as the gavel rang out a final time.  He smiled sympathetically and then vaulted over the back of a couch to land beside Nick.

"Warblers, come to order!"

Finally, the boys settled down and took their seats, and Wes stood, clearing his throat. "As you know, this is an audition meeting, and we'll be getting to that business shortly.  But before that, there's some unannounced business for the agenda."

The Warblers murmured among themselves, and Wes banged the gavel again.  "Most of you probably know, and have taken music classes from, our special guest tonight, Mr. Stevens.  He's a former Warbler, from 1983 to 1987, when, if you know your Warbler history, you already know the Warblers won Regionals three times and Nationals the final year, when he was team captain and lead singer.  Of course, he's an accomplished conductor and musician.  And we are fortunate enough that he's offered to become our first faculty advisor."

"Council Member Wes ... this really should have been brought to the council for a discussion before presenting this to the Warblers generally," David admonished.  "This is a major departure for the Warblers.  We've always been an independent, student-run organization.  You'll need at least a 2/3 vote of the Council, followed by a 2/3 vote of the membership, to amend our Bylaws.  Not to mention, it's highly irregular to have brought Mr. Stevens and Poppy here before we've had a chance to discuss whether an amendment is called for.  You've put the Council - and the general members - in an awkward position, with all due respect to Mr. Stevens."

"I'm aware of that, and I apologize for the lack of notice, Council Member David.  If I may be heard, though.  No one respects our honored traditions more than I," Wes answered. "But as you know, the Warblers haven't won Regionals, let alone Nationals, after Mr. Stevens' victories.  Why?  Because times have changed since the Warblers Bylaws were written.  Nowadays, most show choirs have a faculty advisor, or even full-time coaches, choreographers, and consultants on payroll.   Our local competition - New Directions and Vocal Adrenaline, for just two examples.  When a musician and competitor of Mr. Stevens' caliber offers to advise us for free, it's an opportunity to even the playing field with our competition.  I say we go for it, for the good of the club."

"Are you sure that's the reason, or is it because Mr. Stevens is your girlfriend's father?" Kurt cut in.  

Wes scowled, and pointed the gavel at Kurt.  "Junior Warbler Kurt, the Council has not recognized you.  Please recall parliamentary procedure and wait to be recognized before speaking."

The other Warblers, as always, erupted into frenzied gabbling back and forth, and Wes bashed the gavel into the table repeatedly to restore order.  "Does the junior Warbler have anything substantive, aside from attacks on this council member, to add to the debate before I move for a vote?"

"Yes," Kurt said, rising.  "I urge all of you to vote against Mr. Stevens becoming our advisor."  

The group murmured in amazement as Kurt stared over their heads at a smirking Mr. Stevens.  

"Changing the Bylaws to permit faculty advisors is a mistake, and would alter the very nature and spirit of this club, for the worse."

"Interesting, Junior Warbler Kurt.  You've been all for innovation and modernization before, even at the expense of our honored traditions," Wes said.  His gaze flickered to Poppy, in her Crawford County Day School uniform, sitting with her arms folded and her knee-socked legs crossed.  She raised her eyebrows delicately, flicking her long dark ponytail, and Wes swallowed, continuing, "For example.  You were the first to criticize our song list and our tradition of wearing our school uniforms at competition.  Now you oppose an innovation that could make a major difference in our performance?"

"To the contrary, Council Member," Kurt said coolly.  "If anything, I'm arguing that the strictures and rules at Dalton are oppressive - - with all due respect, of course.  We are supervised and regulated in our clothing, in our classes, in the hallways and in our dorms, and even down to the food we eat in the dining hall.  The Warblers, though?  That's a place where we have all the say.  I may not have agreed with all the choices this group has made - but we made them ourselves, as a group.  The credit for any success we find, or the blame for any failure, is with us alone, unlike Vocal Adrenaline or New Directions, who are told what to do by Mr. Schue or Ms. Corcoran.  And most importantly..." he paused.

Looking at Blaine, he remembered the first time he walked into a Warblers practice, and saw dozens of boys with no adults in sight, singing and dancing with total abandon.  The enthusiasm, the joy that filled the room, the innocent camaraderie.

"Most importantly, this is a magical place ... where we can be ourselves and cut loose without a teacher dictating to us," he finished.  "I don't think we should give that up."

The Warblers murmured indistinctly, many of them looking warily at Mr. Stevens, and Wes banged the gavel.  "Thank you for your thoughts, Junior Warbler Kurt.  If anyone else has any comments?"

"I do."  

The council turned toward Mr. Stevens.  "Yes, Mr. Stevens?"

Miles smiled and stepped forward, addressing the group.  "As Wes mentioned, I was a Warbler myself as a boy.  I was a council member my final year, and lead singer when the Warblers were winning Regionals and even Nationals.  I know a few things about how to prepare a boys a cappella group to compete on that level."

He smiled, looking around at the flags and banners decorating the walls.  "I'm all for tradition; but the Bylaws were written for a bygone era when most high school show choir competitions were amateur-level.  Now, well.  From what I've heard, New Directions must have an immense show choir budget - -"

"Not true!   I was a New Direction. We always had to figure out creative ways to raise money just to pay for the bus to get to competitions!" 

"My contacts tell me that New Directions apparently has the budget for lighting effects, props, auto-tune equipment, musicians, and elaborate costumes - - and that's just for practice performances.  Not to mention a director who spends all his free time on the club, and was talented enough to land a role on Broadway but turned it down to coach New Directions.  And they're nothing compared to Vocal Adrenaline."

"Vocal Adrenaline!  Please!  If you don't mind practices being like boot camp for singing robots, instead of kids having actual fun, then - -"

Wes banged the gavel. "Junior Warbler Kurt, this is the last interruption the council will tolerate.  Mr. Stevens has the floor."

Miles shrugged.  "I really don't have a lot more to say, Wes.  I'm offering to be here to offer advice and expertise, not to dictate song choice or who gets lead parts."  He pointed over to the trophy case by the back of the room.  "The last Nationals trophy in that case was won while I led this club.  I'm assuming you'd like to win a new one and move that one to the back of the case.  Of course, if you're all okay with going into competitions at a disadvantage to schools like McKinley and Carmel, then no offense taken, I'll just root for you from the sidelines like I always have."

"Thank you, Mr. Stevens," David said, taking the gavel from Wes and rapping the table.  "Unless someone else has anything to add, debate on this issue is closed.  Would the new candidates, as well as Mr. Stevens and Miss Stevens, please step outside, so that we can take our vote confidentially?" 

 


	11. The Vote

The door shut behind Miles and his children, and the room erupted in Warbler-chatter that continued until Wes called the group to order again.  

"Well.  A fine kettle of fish, as they say," David said.  "Really, Council Member Wes.  You should have come to the rest of the council before putting all of us on the spot like that."

Wes threw up his hands.  "I suppose; but in the end analysis what difference does that make?  And what else do you expect me to do when a teacher asks to come address the Warblers?  Say no?"

"I imagine if he weren't Poppy's father, you'd have told him that our rules require a Council vote before allowing any debate on a change to the Bylaws," David said.  "And then we could have at least discussed this without him standing there staring at us."

"Enough," Thad cut in.  "I assume you're calling for a Council vote, whether to submit this to the Warblers for a vote?"

Kurt was surprised, when Wes looked conflicted.  "Yes," he said finally.  "I'm not happy about this, to be honest.  You know how I feel about tradition, and I think Kurt made some good points about the importance of autonomy, but.  I admit ... I can't tell Poppy I voted against her father.  And at  this point, I think the group has the right to decide for itself anyway.  I move for a general vote, and vote yes on the question of moving on to a general vote."

"I vote no, emphatically," David said.  "And not just because it's against our traditions.  Mr. Stevens is a fine teacher. But ... I just don't care for the way he pushed his way in here.  He's a former Council member - he knows that's not the way this should have been handled. He says he won't take over, but - -- I just have a bad feeling about this."

"That's easy for you to say," Thad said.  "You're not planning on studying music at college.  I am.  If we don't even allow a vote, he'll know you and I voted against him by process of elimination.  I need to get a letter of recommendation from the head of music for college applications."

"He can't say no to that because of this," David said, uncertainly.  "Can he?"

"I don't know.  Maybe not, but it'll make it pretty awkward to ask him for a favor if he knows I voted against him.  I'm not sure why you and Kurt are making such a big deal about this.  Mr. Stevens is a great musician and a great teacher.   A little strict, but fair, we all know, we've all had him for Music, right?  I think at this point?  This is really something that the group as a whole should decide," Thad said.  "I vote yes, on the motion for a general vote."

  
"If I may?" Kurt said, standing again.

"Kurt, really, this has dragged out enough, and we have fifteen auditions to get through tonight -- " Thad said.  

"Just - - I think a paper vote may be better, so no one has to worry about Mr. Stevens finding out how they voted?" Kurt prompted.  

David nodded.  "Excellent idea, Junior Warbler Kurt.  Warblers Jeff and Nick?"  

The two young men came forward, and David handed them a stack of yellow cards and a handful of pencils.  "Distribute these, please.  And Warbler Trent, please take out the ballot box."

Kurt took his yellow card, stamped in the corner with a line-drawn bird with a musical note emitting from its beak, and wrote NO in block letters across it.   After a few moments, Trent circulated solemnly around the room with a red-and-blue painted wooden box with a slit in the top, and Kurt inserted his ballot.  When everyone had submitted their vote, Trent marched the box to the table and set it down in front of Wes.  

Wes, Thad and David each took a small key from their blazer pocket, and simultaneously inserted them in three keyholes on the box, opening it and retrieving the goldenrod cards.  "Let's see what we have," Wes said.   He held the ballots up one by one, calling out the vote and turning it so the group could see, and as the votes were read out, Kurt's heart sank.  

"That's five against, and ten for, accepting Mr. Stevens' offer," David said, disappointment in his voice.  "The ayes have it."


	12. Unfair Advantage

Kurt sat numbly through the auditions that followed.  As David had predicted, Miles subtly and gradually took control of the process.  He said little, but sat front and center in a place of honor as the new advisor, while each boy got up to sing, unnerving several of the younger ones with his level, appraising stare.  Three candidates stood out as exceptionally good; two juniors and, Kurt admitted to himself, Oliver, who sang a flawless version of "I Dreamed a Dream" in the original key.  

Once the last audition was completed, and all the candidates, along with Poppy Stevens, were sent out to the hallway, Wes opened the deliberations.  "As head Warbler, it is my pleasure to cast the first vote for Oliver Stevens," he announced.  

"That's a surprise," Kurt grumbled, only to be hushed by several other Warblers, who were on the edge of their seats over this.

"David?"  Wes prompted.

"I'm going with Chas Wentsworth," David answered.  Miles scowled, and turned an expectant look towards Thad.

Kurt swallowed hard.   _Please just pick one of those candidates,_  he silently begged Thad. _Don't make Blaine have to choose again, not in front of Miles._ He put an arm protectively around Blaine's slight shoulders.  "I'll go with Oliver Stevens," Thad said, and Kurt breathed a sigh of relief, turning to Blaine with a slight smile.  He was surprised to see Blaine reddening angrily.

"Point of order," Blaine yelled over the din of Warblers reacting to the news.  The room fell silent, and Kurt both felt and saw Miles' glare at Blaine turn icy.  

"Why is this vote being conducted with Oliver's father here?"  Blaine demanded.  "And Wes - - don't you have a conflict of interest?  Your girlfriend is Oliver's brother.  You should recuse yourself from the voting."

Wes turned the gavel over in his hands, looking irritated.  "Blaine.  Surely you can't dispute that Oliver has a  Warbler-caliber voice.  He's a perfect-pitch countertenor.  Perhaps you're the one who is biased, since right now your best friend is the only countertenor in the group?  Maybe you don't want him to have any competition for song parts?"

"I'm not worried about that at all.  Oliver is a very good singer," Blaine said.  "But he can't hold a candle to Kurt," he added with a defiant look at Miles.

"Come on, Blaine," Miles.  "Oliver is classically trained from infancy in voice, Kurt - well, he has a natural talent, sure, but.  Totally untrained."

"He does have natural talent,  and his range is _better_ than Oliver's," Blaine snapped.  "And Oliver's voice hasn't changed yet, so he's not even necessarily a true countertenor like Kurt.  More important, Kurt has heart, and soul, and emotion that Oliver doesn't, and that no amount of training can give a singer."  He paused, and took a shaky breath.  "But that's not why I'm objecting.  It's nothing against Oliver, he really is a very good singer.  It's ..."  Blaine was stumbling, fading under Miles' reproachful look, and Kurt stood up and moved beside him for support.  "It's that this is exactly what Kurt and David were talking about.  Mr. Stevens is already interfering and he shouldn't be here advocating for his own son. Oliver should stand or fall on his own merit.  It's not fair to the other candidates.  We should have another general vote on this and it should be a secret vote - -"

"Enough, Warbler Blaine!  This is our process, the council chooses and in the event of a tie, the lead singer - you - breaks the tie," Wes said. "Your input is not required this go-around.  We've made our choice."

"You said yourself you had to vote for Mr. Stevens to be our advisor because of that ... that girl," Blaine lashed out.  "Now this.  You know what?  If you want Mr. Stevens and his family to take over the Warblers, be my guest.   But this isn't the Warblers I signed up for.  I - - I resign, effective right now.  Let Mr. Stevens pick your new lead singer, since he's in charge now."

"Blaine?  Blaine - are you sure about this," Kurt hissed, as Blaine started toward the door amid an eruption of protest from the Warblers, who were leaping around Blaine and begging him to reconsider.  Blaine's face was set and he nodded, "I - can't be here anymore," he whispered hoarsely.  "You can stay - -"

"Warbler Blaine!  The Council has not accepted your resignation yet!" Wes shouted over the din.  "Blaine.  Please - - can - - can we have a word in private, before you make your final decision? Please?"

Blaine stopped, shutting his eyes, before finally nodding yes.


	13. Poppy

Wes gestured toward a door in the back of the Warblers' common room, that Kurt knew led to a small office where the Council kept the archive of Warbler artifacts and historical documents, and the records and schedules needed to run the club.  Blaine trudged after the council members, and Kurt scampered up and followed, scurrying in as Thad shut the door.  

"Kurt," Wes said.  "This is really officers' business - the Council and lead singer - "

"Then what's  _she_ doing in here?" Kurt said, pointing at the couch in the corner, where Poppy was curled up like a plaid-and-argyle kitten.  

"She's part of this," Wes said.  "Dave, Thad ... Blaine and Kurt.  I owe you all an explanation for my behavior today."

"It's my fault," Poppy said, "I suggested it to my dad, and put Wes up to it."

"Okay," Blaine said uncertainly.  "But why?  Because of Oliver?"

Poppy unfolded from the couch and approached, taking Wes' hand.  "That's part of it ... I sold it to Dad as a way to spend more time with Ollie.  But.  I wanted Dad here, with Ollie and Wes, to keep my dad out of trouble.  You guys ... can I trust you with a secret?"

Blaine turned pale, but nodded silently.

Poppy's big blue eyes swam with tears.  "My father's having an affair.  I don't know who she is, but ... when my mom's been at work, my dad ... he has ... sex with somebody in our house.  I think she's a teacher here."

Kurt took Blaine's hand, and felt it shaking and cold.  

"Why do you think that, Poppy?" he asked softly.  

"About a month ago, I came home early, and Dad was in the shower.  With  _her_.  I could hear my Dad's voice, but not hers."

"Maybe ... erm, he was alone?" Kurt suggested, desperate to cover for poor Blaine, who was speechless.  "I mean, I know it's your Dad, but all men ... fantasize ... from time to time."

She rolled her eyes at him.  "There were two glasses of wine in the kitchen.  I got upset and ran out, but I went through the trash that night.  There were used condoms in there.  And my mother had been out of town a week."  She clutched at Wes' hand.  "Since then, I've been snooping and watching him. I found a burner phone in his jacket-- with phone calls only to one number - - with a Dalton Academy exchange," she choked, and even Kurt had to pity her as she hid her face on Wes' shoulder. "And I heard him on the phone once- he took the phone outside to call and I sneaked around to listen. He was asking her to meet him in his classroom after her second period class," Poppy continued.  "She  _has_ to be another teacher."

"So what's this got to do with him being our advisor?" Kurt asked carefully.

"I figured, the busier I can keep him ... the closer Wes gets with him ... the less time he has for that little whore," Poppy said, bitterness creeping into her voice.  "And Wes can keep an eye on him, maybe find out who she is.  Then I can go to her and try to get her to leave my dad alone."

Wes gently stroked Poppy's back, and looked over her head at the others.  "When Poppy asked me for a favor ... I thought we could kill two birds with one stone.  Mr. Stevens could help us keep up with the other glee clubs, and ... I could help her with her problem too.  I'm sorry, guys.  But Blaine ... please.  Please don't quit over this.  The Warblers need your voice, and we're all family here.  We'd miss you, not just your voice."  He put his free hand on Blaine's arm.  "You see now why I did what I did, right?"

"I ... guess so ..." Blaine mumbled.  

David shook his head.  "But is it really the Warblers' job to babysit Poppy's dad to keep him in line?"

"No," Thad said.  "But we already voted him in. Blaine, I hate the idea of you quitting over this, but I don't think we can take it back without an explanation to him and the club."  

They all stood in silence for a long moment.

Wes finally spoke again.  "Blaine, I get that you're annoyed.  But what I don't get is why it's such a big deal that you'd quit over it.  You love the Warblers, and they love you.  Is having Mr. Stevens at meetings really worth giving all that up?"

"It's almost ... like you have something against Mr. Stevens," Thad added, puzzled.  "Something personal, almost."

Kurt saw a film of sweat form on Blaine's face, saw him open his mouth without any words coming out.  He spoke up quickly, covering for Blaine.  "Of course he doesn't have anything against Poppy's father.  It's the principle of the thing, that's all."

"Well, Wes explained it," Thad said.  "He was misguided, but.  He meant well and was trying to help his girlfriend. Blaine, how about this solution: from now on, we won't make any major decisions based on Mr. Stevens' advice ... all decisions will be voted on like before - -  We'll just get the benefit of his expertise, and we stay in charge.  I promise."

Wes whispered in Poppy's ear, and she nodded slowly.  Wes added, "And if you want ... we can put the question of who gets the empty spot to a secret vote.  That takes the favoritism out of it.  I really felt Ollie's audition was the best, but if that makes you feel better, that'd be okay by me."

"I thought Oliver killed it too, but if it'll keep you here, we can submit it to the Warblers for a full vote," Thad said.

Blaine looked at the floor, defeated. "That's not necessary," he said dully.  "If you both really liked him best ... he  _was_ really good.  I won't quit, as long as the real decisions are still going to be in the club's hands."  

"Great," Wes said.  He extended a hand.  "No hard feelings?"

Blaine paused.  

"No," he said finally.  "I was ... upset, but you guys all mean the world to me ... you're like real brothers.  I didn't want to have to quit.  I'm ... sorry I overreacted," he said, smiling finally that bright, but Kurt recognized as artificial, smile.

 Wes grinned and pulled Blaine in for a hug.  Thad and David joined in for a group hug, but Kurt hung back, watching Blaine's blank, expressionless face over Wes' shoulder.  Blaine looked trapped ... and Kurt really didn't know how to free him.


	14. Stargazing

After the meeting, Kurt helped Blaine on with his jacket by the coatroom.  “Can I walk you home?”

 

“How formal,” Blaine said, winding his scarf, striped with Dalton colors, around his neck.  “I’d be honored to have you see me home, kind sir.”  He slipped a hand through the crook of Kurt’s elbow, and turned toward the door.  Just as Kurt reached for the doorknob, Oliver called from the common room entrance.  

 

“Blaine!  Kurt!  Wait up!”  Oliver hurried forward, followed by his father, with Poppy and Wes hand-in-hand behind them.  “We’re walking past the dorms,” Oliver said, breathless.  “Want to walk together?”

 

“I have a feeling Blaine and Kurt want a little privacy,” Wes said with a knowing wink.  “See you tomorrow, Blaine?”

 

Blaine nodded, pulling closer to Kurt and avoiding Miles’ gaze.  Kurt felt a chill run over him at the proprietary way the older man looked at Blaine, even now when he was clinging to Kurt’s arm.  

 

“Congratulations, Oliver,” Blaine said, extending his free right hand to the younger boy.  They shook hands, with Miles looking on.  “You had a great audition.  Welcome to the Warblers.  Well, see you later, Wes, Poppy.”  He dropped Oliver’s hand and Kurt slid his arm up and around Blaine’s shoulders, giving a defiant look back at Miles.  

 

Miles winked at him.  “See you later, Blaine.”

 

~ * ~ *~ ~ * ~ *~ *~ ~*~

 

Kurt took a roundabout way to the dorm, determined not to cross paths with Miles and his family on the way home.  He kept his arm around Blaine, who passed his own arm around Kurt’s waist as they walked.   Kurt longed to take it a little further, just a little.  

 

But he didn’t want his first kiss with Blaine to be on the same night with the fiasco after fiasco that had happened today.   Especially … what Miles had made Blaine do earlier that day.  No.  It was enough just to be able to hold and support Blaine on the way home, let him know without words or further actions, that he was there to keep him safe as much as he would allow it.  

 

But Blaine wasn’t allowing him to do what was needed to really protect him.  Go to someone  - - the police, the Dean, somebody, and turn Miles in once and for all.  The hold Miles had on Blaine was just too strong … for now.  Kurt hoped that with time, and encouragement, Blaine would come around, and he resolved to stick around and help in any way he could.  

 

“Penny for ‘em,” Blaine said, leaning forward to look into Kurt’s eyes.  Kurt was surprised, again, to see Blaine’s dancing eyes, as if nothing had happened, when Kurt himself was emotionally spent, wrung out.  

 

“How do you do that?” he asked.   Blaine looked quizzically at him.  “How do you act so happy and … smiling and … when …”

 

Blaine nodded.  “Ah.  That.  Well, it’s simple really.  A person can get used to a lot.  And you can choose to focus on the bad things, like … well, like having to keep seeing Miles even though I’d rather not … or on the good things.  Like it’s a beautiful fall night and I’m walking with your arm around me.”  He slowed his steps, pulling gently on the belt of Kurt’s coat.  “Isn’t it a beautiful night, Kurt?  Look at those stars.”  

 

The dorm was visible up ahead on the path, but Blaine stopped walking and pointed up.  “See?  Cassiopeia.  And this time of year you can see Uranus,” he said mischievously, tugging again at Kurt’s belt.  When Kurt rolled his eyes, Blaine protested, “It’s true!  See, right there across from the moon.”  He pointed again.  “And see those four stars?  That’s the Great Square of Pegasus--”

 

“Fascinating! Four stars that make a square!” Kurt teased.  “I think you’re making that up, nobody would make a constellation that’s just a plain square.”

 

“It’s not the whole constellation.  It’s just Pegasus’ body!  He also has a head, and legs and wings, silly.”  He pointed up, his eyes wide and shining, and Kurt didn’t bother looking up.  Why look at stars when he could look at those eyes.  “That bright star is Enif, that’s like the end of his … snout?”

 

“Snout! You mean muzzle,” Kurt laughed.

 

“Right.  And next to it, over there?  That’s AG Pegasi.  It’s a nova … that’s when two stars are orbiting each other, and the bigger one gives the little one matter, until the little one gives off a big explosion of energy and light.  And the best part is that both stars survive the explosion, and that process repeats itself as long as the two stars live and go on orbiting in each other’s gravitational pull.”  Kurt didn’t care at all about novas.  He just kept watching Blaine’s upturned face as he gazed at the stars, somehow full of innocent wonder, despite all he had suffered.  Blaine continued, “That nova is a slow one… it’s been going on for a long time - a hundred and fifty years of brightness.  The little star shines so bright, because of what its partner gives it.”  Blaine shrugged.  “Or something kinda like that, anyway.  It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”  He turned his head and looked full into Kurt’s eyes.  

 

“Yes,” Kurt said shakily.  

 

Blaine wet his lips, and crept a little closer.  “You’re  _my_ big star, Kurt,” he whispered seductively in Kurt’s ear.  “You make me strong.”   His arms were around Kurt’s neck, and Kurt was so tempted.  But.

 

He looked into Blaine’s shimmering eyes, and corrected him kindly but firmly.  “No, Blaine.  You  _are_ strong.  The strongest person I’ve ever met.  I hope though that … I can help you realize how strong you are.”


	15. Coping

Blaine kept smiling all the way back to the dorm, where he waved good night to Kurt on the stairs and headed down the hall and around the corner to his own room, alone.  As he approached, the happy feeling that Kurt always gave him started to fade a little bit.  He had to go back alone to that room.  He stood outside it for a moment, before unlocking it and stepping in.  

He turned the light on, and sighed at the sight of the rumpled bed.  Miles rarely came here, despite the proximity to his faculty housing.  It was just too risky for him to be seen going into the dorm or leaving it.  Evidently it was riskier than they thought for Blaine to go to Miles' house, too.  Poppy boarded at Crawford, so it surprised him she'd nearly caught him in the shower with Miles.  That had been a close call.  Too close.

He placed his shoes neatly in the small closet, and hung up his coat, followed by his blazer and uniform pants.  He carefully brushed them, downwards, with the bristled suit brush followed by a lint roller, and made sure there was an inch or more of space between the wooden hangers so the air could circulate.  Just like Miles had taught him to do, so that his clothes always looked fresh and neat.   The sheets smelled like Miles, so he stripped the bed and changed them. That kept him busy. He shoved the sheets in a bag and tossed it down the communal laundry chute on the way to the bathroom to wash up for bed.

Flipping his laptop on, he climbed up onto the bed and tried not to think about Miles and his hands and body on top of him there earlier.  There was no reason to think about it.  It was hardly the first time, or even the roughest Miles had ever been, though it was close to it.  Miles was ... so angry lately.  Ever since he'd tried to break up with him.  For Kurt, or even just the chance to be with him.

Maybe, just maybe he could start a relationship with Kurt now, even before he freed himself.  Miles had said he could pursue Kurt if he wanted to, but ... would he pay for it in one way or another, with more rough sex and abusive treatment?  And would Kurt really want to be boyfriends when this ... thing ... with Miles, was still going on, even if Blaine was being blackmailed into it?

So weird.  He was the kid, Miles was the one in the wrong.  Kurt had said so.  So why was it that Blaine was the one being blackmailed?  He was starting, slowly, to realize how messed up this whole situation was.  But that knowledge wasn't making it easier, not at all.

Opening his emails, he brightened a little bit at one of them.  The Dalton/Crawford Winter Formal was coming up.  That was the second biggest event on the Dalton social calendar, right behind Spring Formal.   He had always gone stag before, but maybe he could ask Kurt to go together, finally make his big move that way.  

Of course, last time he had asked a boy to a dance, it had all ended pretty badly, but this was Dalton, and nobody would bat an eye at them here.   But ... he looked closer at the announcement. Tickets were $65 each, and if he was asking Kurt, he should pay for Kurt's ticket too.  Plus he'd need to rent evening wear, and it was customary to take your date out to dinner first and buy her - or in this case him - flowers.  All that would cost a lot. 

He looked in his bank book and calculated silently.  Even with his next work-study check, he might not have enough.  He looked up at the ceiling and thought about what to do.  Normally, if he had expenses over his budget he could ask Miles to give him cash for it.   Up to now, that had come up only a few times, like when Miles had given him his laptop and iPhone, and occasionally a trip or outing he needed money for. If you could call what he and Miles did "dating", it was Miles who picked up all the tabs for their encounters.  Expenses for his social life otherwise always had been light - - just coffees and movies with the guys, that kind of thing.   This raised a roadblock.  

If he wanted to be Kurt's boyfriend, he would need more spending money so he could do everything properly.  Like Kurt deserved. But he certainly couldn't ask Miles for money to go out with Kurt.  Besides, the very thought of Miles' money being spent on pure, perfect Kurt made him sick.  He wanted to make the money for Kurt the right way, himself, and not through what was basically prostitution either. Some other way.

He made up his mind. He'd apply for a job, and every penny of that money would go to Winter Formal and other events with Kurt.  He could take him to the movies, maybe.  And flowers!  Kurt loved them and always buried his nose in any flower arrangement he passed by, it was adorable. Kurt deserved so many flowers!  

It was settled.  First thing tomorrow he would look into a new job in addition to his work study hours. For Kurt. He closed his laptop and lay down to sleep.

But.  The second he lay down and tried to sleep, the bad feelings were back.

The bed.  The room.  That headboard that had banged against the wall earlier today.

That ceiling he'd stared at, counting the tiles, the specks within the tiles, waiting for Miles to finish. 

He tried to block it out.  Think about something else.  Kurt - Kurt's face.  How it would be to walk into the Winter Formal on Kurt's arm, and dance with him. What flowers he would get for him.

That helped for a minute, but then.

Miles - - Miles' hands, and mouth - -

His heart started pounding and his face was sweaty, as the images and sensations kept flooding his mind.   Pain and shame and humiliation.  Tears slipped from behind his squeezed-shut eyes and he cursed Miles again in his head.   How could he have ever thought he loved Miles?  Not once had he ever felt about Miles, the way he felt about Kurt.  It wasn't the same at all, and he hadn't even realized - -

A branch hit the window and he jumped, sitting up and trying to keep calm.  

This room had been a safe place, a haven, but for some reason, he couldn't shake the thoughts that crowded in on him anymore.  His heart was pounding out of his chest.  He was going to die if he stayed here.  He panicked and threw back the covers, clicking on the light next to his bed, trying to breathe, but - -   

Scrabbling for his robe, he threw it on and staggered out of his room, breaking into a run when he hit the hallway, then racing down it to the stairs.  He went up a flight, and down the hallway to - - to Kurt's room.  He stood outside, feeling dizzy and faint, still unable to draw a full breath inward.  If he could just see Kurt -  - just for a minute - - but he paused, afraid to knock.  He didn't want Kurt to see him like this.  He didn't want to be a basket case in front of him.  Kurt liked him - when he was cool and collected and in control.  What if Kurt didn't like the real him -- this crazy person standing in his boxers and robe outside the door?   

Or almost as bad ... what if Kurt just pitied him?

He decided against seeking Kurt out for help with his panic. If he had any hope of Kurt seeing him as boyfriend material, he couldn't keep breaking down all the time in front of him.  He had to be strong, like Kurt thought he was.  He had to.  He turned and forced his feet to walk back down the hallway, back into the room that now filled him with terror. 

And to the closet where the other half of the hidden, half-full whiskey bottle he'd stolen from Miles' liquor cabinet beckoned him.

Just a little ... to help him sleep.

To forget.

 

 


	16. New Day

The alarm clock jolted Kurt awake at 7 a.m. the next morning, after only a couple of hours of sleep.  He had tossed and turned most of the night, worried about Blaine's situation.  So much had happened yesterday.  It was a lot to take in, even for him.  He didn't know how Blaine could possibly cope with it all.  He got up, rubbing his eyes and went to stand on line for a shower, but as he rounded the corner in his flip-flops and holding his rubber caddy of toiletries, he groaned.  Normally he woke up on his own and beat the rush, but the line for the shower was literally out the door of the second floor bathroom.  He hesitated a moment, before turning to the back stairs and heading down to the first floor.  

The common rooms and offices took up over half the first floor, and there were only a few dorm rooms on each side.  Blaine was basically alone on his wing, no doubt a deliberate placement arranged by Miles.  The bathroom down there would be less crowded, and he could check on Blaine, and maybe go to the dining hall together for breakfast if they hurried.  

He headed down the hallway to Blaine's room at the end, and tapped on it.   "Hey, Blaine - it's me, Kurt.  Are you in there?  I was hoping to use the bathroom on this floor.  Did you shower yet?"  He tapped again, and heard movement inside.  "Blaine!  Are you okay! Open the door!"  He was frightened, suddenly - - surely Miles couldn't have come back again?  He reached for the door handle to rattle it, and the door opened.  Swallowing hard, he pushed it open, and peered inside.

The room was dark, curtains drawn - - and someone was in the bed.   Kurt flicked on the light.

"Ow, turn that off!" came weakly from the bed.  Blaine rolled over, rubbing his bleary eyes.  An empty bottle of 12-year-old scotch was lying on the floor, and his heart sank.  Blaine was hungover again.

"At least you're drinking the good stuff," Kurt sighed, leaning over and picking up the bottle.  "Where'd you get this?"

Blaine moved his hand from his eyes and raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, silly question.  So he gives you wine and hard liquor.  Why doesn't that surprise me."

"Actually I stole that one, from his house last time I paid a house call, or a booty call, or whatever it is you call what I do," Blaine said, his voice hoarse.  "But yes, usually he gives me a few drinks to help me relax."

Kurt shook his head, disgusted.  "Now you need it to sleep?"  

"Let's skip the alcoholism questionnaire, okay?  I've had health class.  Drinking alone, check.  Drinking to deal with emotions, check.  Binge drinking, check.  You win, I'm an alcoholic on top of being a rent boy," Blaine said irritably.

"Maybe, maybe not."  Setting the bottle down on the night table, Kurt said, "You're abusing alcohol, anyway.  Not that I blame you, with what you have to deal with, but this isn't a solution."

"I know that!" Blaine snapped, then shut his eyes in pain.  "God, that hurt."

"Hangovers tend to.  I know, I had one once.  Threw up all over my guidance counselor."

Blaine winced.  "Please don't talk about it, I'm begging you.  What are you wearing, by the way?"

Kurt pulled his robe around his neck more tightly.  "It's called a bathrobe.  It's rush hour in the second floor bathroom, so I thought I'd come down here and sneak into the bathroom on this floor."

Blaine studied him.  "You look really ... nice.  A little tired, though.  Everything okay?"

"No, Blaine, it's not.  Nothing's changed, no matter how much you drink or how much you pretend you're okay.  Do you expect me not to worry?"

Blaine picked at the blanket.  "I don't know what to say to that.  I'm sorry this is upsetting you." 

"I have a question for you," Kurt said, hesitantly.  "Thanksgiving is coming up.  What happens when everyone goes home for break?  To you, I mean."

Getting out of the bed, Blaine went to the closet and took down a plastic caddy much like Kurt's, and reached for a towel.  "Let's go try to wake up with a shower."

Kurt followed Blaine out of the room and down the hall to the empty bathroom.  "Blaine - what happens on breaks?"

Blaine hung his caddy on the hook and shrugged.  "I stay here for most of them.  There's maybe ten of us in the whole school who do, like most of the exchange students.  There's kind of a reduced dining hall schedule for people who are stuck here.  And the Dean hosts a big Thanksgiving dinner for the faculty and the students who can't go home.  I always go to that.  It's not that bad."

"You're in the dorm alone nights?   And Miles is - - is right around the corner in his house?"

Blaine met his eyes.  "Yes."  They locked eyes and Kurt read there what Blaine had to look forward to at Thanksgiving.  Kurt cried out in distress and clutched at Blaine's hand.

"Oh, Blaine ... you can't stay here this time.  You can't.  Come home for break with me.  For Christmas too.  My dad won't mind.  I'll just tell him your family lives too far away for you to go home at breaks."

"It's kind of true," Blaine admitted.  "You're sure he wouldn't mind?"

"I'm sure.  Please say yes."

Blaine smiled a sunburst smile, radiant even through his bloodshot eyes and pale lips.  "Yes.  Yes, I'd love to come stay with you this break.  Thanks so much."  He threw his arms around Kurt, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.  They lingered in their embrace, Kurt keenly aware of the fact that they were both barely dressed.  Blaine rested his forehead against Kurt's neck, swaying a moment; and raised his hand to touch the edge of Kurt's robe.  "Kurt," he moaned softly.  "Kurt - - can I - -"

"Well, better hit those showers, or all the good stuff'll be gone at breakfast.  If you're up to it."  Kurt pulled away briskly, pretending not to hear the beginning of Blaine's question.  He was a little afraid of what Blaine was about to suggest or ask.  He stepped into a shower stall, and smiled at a dejected-looking Blaine.  "Hurry, and I'll go with you to breakfast, okay?  You should have some dry toast and something to drink.  Then I'll walk you to class."

Brightening, Blaine nodded and smiled again, stepping into the shower stall next to Kurt's.  As Kurt pulled the shower curtain shut and slung his bathrobe over the curtain rod, he looked grimly at his reaction to holding Blaine.   One he certainly didn't feel comfortable attending to with Blaine only a few feet away and also naked.

He turned on the water full blast - ice cold.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on where I'm taking this, suggestions, comments, observations? Please hit me up and let me know, don't be shy. THanks


	17. Showdown at the Lima Bean

Blaine wiped the counter at the Lima Bean wearily, and looked at the clock.  Ten more minutes to closing, then he would lock the door, cash out the register, put all the chairs on top of the tables to sweep and mop, and take out the garbage.  Then walk home ... probably he'd be home by 1:00 a.m.  

He was tired, but the new job was helping in an unexpected way.  He wasn't wasting time tossing and turning, unable to sleep, and he wasn't drinking as much.  He knew Kurt didn't like him to drink to forget his problems.  So now this filled the time and quieted the noise in his head.   The door opened and he quickly bent to put the rag away, and put on his biggest smile.  Late-night customers always tipped really well.   When he straightened back up, he was face-to-face with the person he was trying so hard to forget about.

"So.  My sources are right - this  _is_ where you've been hiding yourself," Miles said, with a thin smile.  "Why the after-school job, Blaine?  It can't pay much, and if you needed money, you know I'll help out where I can."

Blaine looked down at the counter, helpless as usual with this man.  He didn't want to admit that he was earning money to buy tickets to the formal for Kurt. "I just wanted some extra pocket money.  I didn't want to bother you with it."

"Oh, but Blaine, it is bothering me.  You haven't answered my texts or calls in over a week.  Too busy here to see me?"

"Yes, well.  I mean, I see you at Warbler practice and at class."

"You know that's not what I mean, Blaine.  I haven't  _seen_ you since that day you acted out in class and I had to punish you.  You understand why I had to do that, right?  For making a scene in my class, coming in drunk and risking getting us caught?"

Blaine flashed, "I'm confused, Miles.  You talk about punishing me.  You sound like you're my father, more than my boyfriend.  Boyfriends don't punish each other."

"Okay, that was a poor choice of words," Miles said, changing tactics.  "But aren't you punishing me by avoiding me instead of talking this out?  Blaine, please.  I miss you.   Finish up here and let's go someplace we can be alone, okay?"

"Closing up will take an hour, at least.  I'm sure you have your family to go home to."

"Are you closing up alone?  I could help you finish, and then ... "

"I'm not alone, the manager is in the back," Blaine said quickly.  "You'd better order before she gets out here."

 

A crowd of college kids rushed in, a minute before closing.  Blaine could have cried with relief.  "Are you ready to order, sir?" he said formally.  

"I'll take a grande decaf latte," Miles said, handing over a twenty.  "Keep the change, add it to the slush fund for whatever you're saving up for."

Blaine put the $20 on the register, and rang up the purchase, sliding exact change across the counter.  He turned his back, still defiant, and mixed the coffee, calling out to his manager to help with the last-minute assholes who were blowing in, and from his experience, were the type who would order complicated drinks and then sit sipping them for another forty minutes while he and Diane were waiting to go home.  Diane rushed in from the back and started taking orders, while Blaine finished making Miles' drink.  

As he set it on the pick-up counter, Miles leaned in.  "If you can't meet me tonight, fine.   But I want to see you Wednesday.  Sylvia will be getting her pies and things ready for Thanksgiving dinner, and I told her I'd be spending Wednesday grading papers.  I'll be by your dorm room at 8, we can spend the whole day - -"

"Sorry, Miles, but I have plans for the holiday weekend.  I'm going home with Kurt for break."

"The hell you are," Miles hissed, his face turning a deep red.  Blaine flickered a glance at Diane, busily taking orders, and at the marked cups she was shoving onto the counter for him.  He picked up the first one, and read, grande drip, black.  He started pouring it, and murmured to Miles, "It's already arranged.  I can't change it without Kurt getting suspicious.  And besides, you're the one who said I could see Kurt.  And it's only fair - you have Sylvia, why can't I have a relationship?"  

Miles growled, "What I said was, nail that twink and then remember who you belong to.  Not start a  _relationship_."  

"You don't understand," Blaine protested, setting the cup on the counter and reaching for a lid.  "I'm not just out for sex - in fact, I don't think we'll do it for a long time. We haven't even kissed yet.  He's younger than me, and inexperienced - he's not ready.  And I love him too much to rush anything with - - "

Blaine thought he knew Miles, that he was safe in a public place, that Miles had some measure of self-control at least.   Wrong.  He was stunned when Miles suddenly snatched up the open cup of hot black coffee, and hurled it toward his face.  He managed to dodge most of it, and block his face with his arm.  Cowering away in shock, he stared, astonished, at Miles.  He realized suddenly that the small crowd of students had gone quiet, and Diane was at his side.

"Are you all right, Blaine?" she asked worriedly, pulling his arm away from his face.  "Did you get burned?"  Blaine shook his head, but couldn't form any words, just stared speechlessly at Miles, who was looking embarrassed and a little afraid too.

"What the hell, dude," one of the students said, angrily.  "Why would you do something like that?" another cut in, and a third piped up, "Someone should call the police!"

"It - it was an accident, my -  my hand slipped," Miles stammered.   "I - I apologize, young man."  

"I think you'd better just go," Diane said firmly.  "And by the way, don't come back in here again.  Ever."  

Miles paused, just a moment, but finally turned on his heel and left, as Diane fussed over him and wiped at the stains on his work shirt, and Blaine tried not to dissolve into tears in public.


	18. First

Blaine shook out his freshly laundered extra bathrobe.  Like most of his clothes, it was Dalton-issue, with the school's crest embroidered on the front pocket.  Few of the guys wore them, but they were free and Blaine loved his.  Folding it crest-side up, he placed it in his suitcase carefully.

"All packed for the weekend?" 

Blaine looked up from his suitcase to see Kurt standing in the doorway, smiling.  

"My dad will be here the end of classes tomorrow.  We need to be ready to jump right in the car.  In fact, my stuff's already down in the lobby.  Two big suitcases and a garment bag.  Will you need any help carrying yours down?" he asked.

Blaine laughed.   "I can manage," he said, pointing at his overnight duffel bag.  That was from Dalton too, or more accurately, the Warblers.  They each got one on joining, for use in away competitions.  "This is it.  I don't have very many clothes besides my uniforms," he said, suddenly anxious and self-conscious.  "Is this enough for the long weekend, do you think?"

Kurt came over and flipped through, counting.  Underwear, socks, pajamas, slippers and robe.  Four polo shirts, one in each primary color and one white.  Two pairs of jeans.  And for Thanksgiving Day, a pair of his uniform pants, a dress shirt and  Dalton-themed bow tie and cardigan.

"Well, it's exactly enough outfits ... if you have a spill, you can always use the washer and dryer."  

"Where will I be sleeping?  On a couch or in a guest room?" Blaine asked.  

Kurt turned an adorable shade of pink.  "Um.  No. We don't have a guest room anymore, and the couch isn't very comfortable.   I asked my dad if you could sleep in my room - the bed is king-sized and there's plenty of room, but he said no - uh.  No boys in my room, that is."  Kurt turned even redder, and bent to rearrange the colorful socks in Blaine's suitcase.  "You'll bunk in with my step-brother Finn.  Dad will set up a cot for you in Finn's room.  Finn's fine with it, and don't worry, you'll like him.  Everybody does."

"You asked if I could sleep in your room?" Blaine said, shyly.  

"Well, I thought it - um.  Yes.  I thought that might be fun.  Like a slumber party," Kurt said.  "I have slumber parties in my room all the time with Mercedes and Tina, and sometimes Rachel.  I'm sure we'll see all of them at some point over the weekend."

"I would have a slumber party with you anytime."  Blaine shut the suitcase and fastened the clasps, then moved it beside the door.  "Kurt, I really appreciate your inviting me for the weekend.  You're a good friend."

Kurt's smile quavered a little, and he nodded a little head-jerk of a nod.  "Sure.  Pals forever."

Something in the tone of Kurt's voice pricked up Blaine's ears.  Was that longing in Kurt's voice?  He was always so confused by Kurt's signals.  But ... maybe he hadn't been entirely transparent himself lately.   He took a deep breath.

"And I'm about to take a chance on ruining the weekend, by bringing something up that ... I feel like we've been dancing around for weeks now.  I've tried to let you know, or drop some hints ... that I'd like to be more than just friends.  I feel like you've been avoiding the topic, and if it's because you don't feel the same, or don't think it's a good idea, I understand and accept that ... but I want you to know how I feel."   He crept closer to Kurt and looked up into his eyes.

"I love you."

Kurt drew a sharp intake of breath, and Blaine wilted a little on the inside.  But he straightened up his spine.  He knew that no matter what, Kurt would be his friend.  He trusted him in that.

"Don't worry - Kurt, please - I don't expect you to say it back.  I won't be mad or - - "

"I do.  I love you," Kurt said frantically.  "So much, Blaine.  I just - wasn't sure that I should say anything, when - -"

Blaine stepped forward and took his hands.  "Please don't," he begged, silently hoping that Kurt would know not to say Miles' name now, not at this important moment.  "It's okay - we've said it now.  And - can I.  Can I kiss you?  Please?  I've wanted to forever."

Kurt looked conflicted, and Blaine's heart ached over what must be going through his head.  That Blaine wasn't free to be with someone else totally, that he was someone else's too, even unwillingly.  Maybe that was too much for Kurt to bear- - but then, Kurt's gentle hand was on his face and his lips pressed against Blaine's, in the sweetest kiss that Blaine had ever imagined.


	19. Sneaking Around

The barriers down, they snuggled together on one of the twin beds in Blaine's room a long time, talking excitedly, words tumbling out like an avalanche, both eager to tell and to hear everything hidden in their hearts.

 _What did they think of one another when they met_?  Like their souls had touched, not just their hands.  Like kismet, or fate, or ... destiny.  Yes, destiny!

 _Have you ever been in love before?_ , they asked each other, warily. Oh, no, those were only minor crushes.  Never like this before!  Surely not!  they reassured each other.

 _When did they know it was love?_  On the stairs, when they looked into each other's eyes the first time, of course.  But they were more sure all the time, every day, since then, every time they learned something new and wonderful or weird about each other, and they remembered and retold each endearing moment of their short history together.  

It went on and on, between tender kisses and gazing into each other's eyes, for longer than was sensible, even when tomorrow was the last day before break, and no real work would be expected in classes.  So long that they eventually fell into a comfortable, happy silence, Blaine's head resting on Kurt's shoulder.  

"Kurt?  I know this is forward ... and I understand if you'd rather not.  But ... I don't want to say goodbye to you tonight.  Could we sleep in the same bed, just for tonight?  I promise, just sleeping!"

Kurt smiled softly, tracing Blaine's face with his fingers tenderly.  "I'd like that very much.  I haven't slept well lately... I think it might help to be near you."

"Your teddy bear?" Blaine murmured.  

"You're exactly like a teddy bear.  Cuddly and cute."

Blaine looked thoughtful.  "We'll have to time it right."  

The dorm monitors were responsible for monitoring lights out.  The lights flickered on and off at 9 as a warning.  Ten minutes later, Wes and David would work their way down the dorms, one on each side of the hall, ensuring that each student was accounted for and in his own room.   Once the count for the whole building was correct, they reported to the resident director, who flipped a switch in his office to set the alarms in the stairwells and ground floor exits. 

"Usually Wes just calls my cell and does a verbal check, since I'm the only one down here and it saves him a trip," Blaine said.  He didn't mention that he sometimes would say he was in his room, when he really was with Miles. Or that the window to his isolated room wasn't alarmed, allowing him to crawl out when summoned by a phone call or a tap on the outside of the window.

"Since I have a roommate and my floor is crowded, it'll have to be your room," Kurt decided. "I'll go up and put some pillows under the covers, and get Trent to cover for me when David or Wes comes by. I think he'll go for it."

"Me too. He's a romantic," Blaine agreed. "Sneak back down the stairs before they set the alarm. If the monitors do pick tonight to do a second check, we'll hide you."

"Not in the closet, I hope."  Kurt reluctantly stood to go, his fingers clinging to Blaine's hand.  

"Never! So, see you  in a few?  Sweetheart?"

Kurt nodded happily.


	20. Seen

Kurt woke up early, slowly rising from the mist of sleep to realize he and his new boyfriend -  _boyfriend_ \- were crammed into the same twin bed, limbs and sheets entangled.  The sun was up, he dimly realized from the bright outline of sun blazing around the edges of the curtains.  He hated to move, but he really should get up.  Get ready for breakfast, then classes and Warbler practice.  They had a full day, and then Dad would be here to take them home.  Take Blaine away from the prison he was in, if only for a long weekend.  He liked to think about Blaine having a real family Thanksgiving.   He wondered how long it had been.  He slid his arm out from under Blaine's neck gingerly, and tiptoed in the dark to the other bed.  His toiletries, change of clothes, and robe were waiting there and he fumbled in the dark for them.  It took him a while to get ready in the mornings, so he'd better get started - but Blaine looked so peaceful and sweet, he wanted to avoid waking him any earlier than necessary.

He took off his pajama shirt and put his arms into the sleeves of his robe, leaving it hanging open while he slid his pajama bottoms and underwear off, keeping his back to Blaine.  As he picked up his plastic caddy, he was startled by a sound at the window.  A branch from a tree outside had been knocking against it off and on last night.  Blaine stirred slightly, with a little sad moan, at the sound, and Kurt set the bucket down.  

He headed over to the window.  Maybe he could grab the branch and break it off so it didn't make that noise and disturb Blaine.  He reached out and pulled the curtain around himself so he could open the window - - and found himself face-to-face with Miles Stevens on the other side of the window.

Staggering back, he tripped over his own feet, pulling the curtain open fully in his wake, and gasping in shock at not only the man's unexpected appearance, but the pure rage and hatred distorting his features - the jealousy and fury - directed at _him_.

Behind him, Blaine sat up in the bed.  He was disoriented, letting out a gasped cry of, "No, Miles!" - - even before he looked across the room and out the window to see the devil he had just spoken of.  Miles reached out and slammed a hand on the window pane, pointing at Blaine and gesturing toward the back entrance as if to direct him there - and Blaine, looking frightened, started to comply.

Regaining his senses, Kurt suddenly lunged for his phone, scrabbling to turn it on and get a picture of this teacher staring into a student's dormitory bedroom at 7:30 in the morning - -but Miles evidently realized his perilous position at the same time.  Before Blaine's feet were on the floor, Miles took off at a run through the trees, and disappeared behind them before Kurt could capture his image.

 


	21. Admissions and Declarations

"Blaine - - that was - - that was Miles - - outside your window!  He - - he was right there!"

"Um.  Kurt."

He put his hands on his hips, furious at this situation.  The man was stalking Blaine, who was just sitting there,  averting his eyes and blushing.   "Is there a reason you won't look at me and discuss this?" he shouted.

"Your robe."  Blaine continued hiding his face in the crook of his elbow and pointing aimlessly with his free hand.

Kurt looked down, and quickly closed the robe around himself, tying the dangling ends of his belt.  "Was - was that open the whole time?  While that pervert was ... looking in here?" he quavered.  

Blaine's face turned stricken.  "Oh, Kurt.  I'm so sorry.  He hasn't been by here in a while; he usually contacts me by phone, but I turned it off last night.  And he probably wanted to see me after -" he stopped.  "But he violated your privacy - I'm so sorry - it's all my fault - "

"See you after what?" Kurt pulled the curtain closed and sat on the edge of the bed.  

"We kind of had a fight.  At the Lima Bean Monday night, right at closing," Blaine said reluctantly.  

Kurt shook his head.  "Hold on.  Why were you meeting him there of all places?"

Blaine got out of bed and went to the closet.  "I wasn't meeting him there.  I work there evenings now."  He started to take down his own robe.  

"How can you work evenings?  Lights out is at - -"

"I sneak out, okay?  Wes and David don't check on me in person anymore, most of the time.  When I sneak out, I just send them a text saying I'm going to bed early.  They take my word for it, and there's nobody else on the floor or a roommate to say otherwise, or anybody else to check on, so ....  I just leave the window open an inch and sneak back in after."

"How long have you been working there, and why?" Kurt said, bewildered.  "And why didn't you tell me?  What else about you don't I know, Blaine?" he said, getting teary-eyed.  "How many more secrets are you keeping?"

Blaine turned around, and faced him.  "There's.  A lot you don't know.  A lot you don't want to know, about my life, Kurt, especially in the past.  But the Lima Bean isn't a bad secret.  It. Was supposed to be a surprise."  He went to the desk and pulled out a printed announcement for the Winter Formal from the top drawer.  His hands were shaking as he turned back around.  "He ruins everything," he said bitterly.  He closed his eyes, and then came back to the bed and knelt beside it, looking up earnestly at Kurt.  "I wanted to make a big deal out of this," he said, handing him the flyer.  "I wanted to sing 'Come Dance With Me' by Frank Sinatra, with the Warblers backing me up, and ... and he ruins every fucking thing," he finished, breaking down in tears, dropping his head on Kurt's lap.  

"You - were going to ask me to Winter Formal?"  Kurt interpreted the Blaine-speak, with a little help from the printed announcement.  When Blaine nodded, still sniffling against him, Kurt paused.  "But what's that got to do with you sneaking out to work at the Lima Bean?"

"I needed money for the tickets, and the clothes, if you said yes," Blaine's muffled voice came back.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt said.  "You didn't need to do that.  I would have paid for the tickets if you didn't have the money  --"

Blaine's head snapped up.  "I wanted to do it for you!  I wanted to!  I don't want to ask you to pay for things, like . . like ...!  We're not like that!" Blaine erupted passionately, and Kurt leaned to kiss away the tears on his face.  

"I know we're not.  I didn't mean it that way.  And I know ... there's a money/power thing between you and Miles, but it wouldn't be the same if I paid for our tickets, honey, I - -" he sighed.  Blaine's face was setting in that stubborn line.  "Never mind.  It was a sweet gesture that you wanted to treat me to the dance, but what happened with Miles?"

Blaine looked away.  "I haven't been answering his texts and calls," he said.  "It's been a while, since that time I came to class drunk, since we've.  Been together.  And he can't really talk to me at class or Warblers practice.  He was annoyed about that, and." 

"And, what, Blaine?" Kurt prompted.

"He wanted to make arrangements for the holiday, to spend the day before Thanksgiving with me.  And I told him you invited me home.  I ... may have mentioned that I'm in love with you.  He ... made a scene in the coffee shop."

That was surprising.  "Did anyone hear anything incriminating?" Kurt asked hopefully.  

"Well, not really.  They saw him getting mad," Blaine said evasively.  

"What actually happened?  Did he yell?"

"No."  Blaine bit his lip, and let out a sigh.  "He.  Lost his temper and threw something."  At Kurt's questioning look, he finished, "Coffee.  Hot coffee.  But I dodged most of it."

Kurt thought back to all the freezing cold slushies thrown in his face at McKinley.  How having something thrown in your face feels, emotionally and physically. The abject humiliation of it.  That was bad enough when it was a slushie.   "But Blaine, hot coffee could have really hurt you.  And in front of witnesses?  That's ... reckless of him.  Has he always been this volatile?"

"He's always been controlling, but I always did what he told me before.  I didn't know any better, I guess ... I was glad to get his help, and I just thought ... that it was normal, or something, that I had to pay for it with sex and obedience."  

Kurt felt nauseous, but tried not to overreact -not now, when Blaine was opening up more.

"Now that I'm putting up a fight about things, trying to break things off, he's.  Getting more temperamental, I guess.  It's making him careless."  He smiled with a weakly flirtatious look, up at Kurt.  "It's kind of your fault."

"My - my fault - -" Kurt stammered, not understanding.

"Oh, not in a bad way!  It's more like, getting to know you, wanting to be with you, is what's triggering all this rebellion on my part, making me realize that this Miles thing is just.  Screwed up.  You've made me see the light, Kurt, like ... I have a right to my freedom, to happiness, and I shouldn't have to ... be hurt anymore.  Kurt, I - - love you so much, you can't understand it, maybe -- you're my savior, my hero."  He gazed adoringly up at Kurt, and Kurt felt a twinge of discomfort.  He wasn't a hero.  Blaine, perhaps, was putting him on a pedestal because ... he had no one else who knew his pain or tried to help him.

Worst of all,  Kurt hadn't saved Blaine, who was as trapped and in as much danger from this psychopath as ever.  What would it take to free him?

Looking again at Blaine's face, shining with adoration and trust.

Would it take betraying that trust, turning Miles and reporting what he knew, for Blaine's own sake?  And, perhaps, losing the boy he loved in the process?

 

 


	22. Threats

"Okay, class, that's it for today.  Remember, term paper outlines are due Monday.  Try to enjoy the break anyway," Miles said, smiling.  Kurt was watching him intently throughout class, astonished at the man's ability to put on a normal facade under the circumstances.  The bell rang, and Blaine packed his message bag beside him.   He had a class after Miles' music theory seminar class, and it was in the science building across campus.   

"I'll see you at Warbler practice --  have a great rest of the day,  _boyfriend_ ," Blaine whispered, pressing a kiss to Kurt's temple.  

Kurt grabbed Blaine's hand, holding it a moment, then looked up.  "I know you have to go.  I just - love you.  Always remember that."  The class was empty now, except for Miles and the two of them.  He gazed intently at Blaine, who flushed a little.

"Um.  Okay.  I'm just going to Chemistry class, not leaving for battle, but thanks. Love you too."  Blaine's eyes flickered to Miles.

Miles looked up from his grade book.  "Blaine, can you stay after class a moment.  There's ... a Warbler matter --"

"Sorry, sir.  I can't be late to Chemistry.  I - - I'll see you at Warbler practice - - " Blaine said over his shoulder as he fled.  

Kurt stayed seated, his hands folded on the desk, and Miles glanced up finally.  

"You're dismissed, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt drummed his fingers on the desk.  "Just like that, I suppose?  We're going to pretend this morning didn't happen?"

Miles shrugged.  "Oh, you mean the fact that you obviously slept in Blaine's room last night?  Yes, that's an infraction of the rules, but, I'm willing to let it go."

"I should think so, since the only reason you know is that you were stalking and sexually harassing your student.  I've done some research on that topic, by the way.  Would you like to know what I learned, sir?"  Kurt opened his notebook, and flipped to a page of notes.  "According to the Ohio Revised Code Section 2907.03, it is sexual battery for one person to have sexual contact with another if:1. the offender is a teacher, administrator, coach, or other person in authority employed by or serving in a school subject to state board of education standards, the other person is enrolled in or attends that school;  2. the other person is a minor, the offender is a teacher, administrator, coach, or other person in authority employed by or serving in an institution of higher education, and the other person is enrolled in or attends that institution; or 3. the other person is a minor, and the offender is the other person's athletic or other type of coach, instructor, or scout troop leader or is a person with temporary or occasional disciplinary control over the other person."  

Kurt looked up.  "This is where it gets interesting."  He paused over the notebook again, then resumed reading.  "Sexual battery is a third degree felony and offenders are subject to imprisonment for one to five years, a fine of up to $5,000, or both."  He closed the book.  "And that's not even addressing the fact that you've crossed over into blackmail, forcible rape, stalking - -"

"Enough, Mr. Hummel!  I have no idea what you're talking about.  If Blaine is telling you there's something inappropriate going on between us, he's lying."

Kurt raised his eyebrow.  "Really?  Well, I'm delighted to hear that I've been wrong about that.  And I'm sure you have no problem with my going to Winter Formal with Blaine."

He was encouraged to see Miles swallow hard and start to turn red.  But Miles held on to his temper this time.  "I have no interest in your or Mr. Anderson's love life, Mr. Hummel.  Now I think you'd better leave."

Now it was Kurt who lost his temper.  This asshole would admit what he was doing, if Kurt had anything to do with it.  "Don't waste both our time with the denials, Mr. Stevens.  I know the truth, and it stops now or I'll go to the police with what I know."

Miles stood up, angry now, and advanced on Kurt, who stood to face him down.  

"You smug punk.  You're bluffing.  If Blaine wanted to turn me in, he would have by now."  He took a shaky breath, and straightened his spine.  "Let me tell you something else.  He will  _never_ go along with telling the police.  This rebellion -  _you_ \- are just a phase he's going through.  It won't last, and he _won't_ go to the police.  He'd never do that to me."

"You don't think so?" Kurt said.  "I think covering for you is the phase.  One that you caused, by constantly abusing him and belittling him to the point he's afraid to turn you in.  I think that's what's not going to last, now that Blaine is growing up.  Then ... he'll turn your perverted ass in so fast - -"

"He won't.  He loves me," Miles insisted.

Kurt raised an eyebrow.  "Really?  Has he ever said he loves you?  Because he's said it to me."

Miles looked stung, but then recovered.  "I'll give him this weekend with you.  Then he  _will_ break it off with you, and nobody will ever believe your lies then."

"No, he won't be breaking up with me after this weekend, Mr. Stevens.  He asked me to Winter Formal, and we're going together.  And we'll be together for a long time after that because we're in love.  Get used to it.  You're old news, and if you try to go near him again, I'll have you arrested."

Suddenly comprehension dawned in Miles' face, and he lunged at Kurt, grabbing at his Dalton Academy uniform jacket.  Kurt tried to fight him off, but Miles got hold of his telephone ... recording their entire encounter.  Kurt tried to wrench it back out of his grasp, but Miles was bigger, stronger .... and landed a punch to Kurt's stomach that doubled him over.   Miles backed up and quickly opened the phone.

"Nice try," he said directly into it, before deleting the recording with a click just as Kurt managed to straighten up.  Miles flipped through the phone for a moment, no doubt making sure the recording was permanently deleted and not backed up to the Cloud.  It wasn't, Kurt realized, cursing inwardly.

Miles smiled, calm again.  "I'll be confiscating this.  You know the rules.  No cellphone use in class."  He rounded the desk and opened the top drawer with a key, dropping the phone inside.  Kurt noticed a rattling as the desk drawer opened, and managed to catch a glimpse of a number of thumb drives in the drawer, before Miles shut it with a slam and locked it again.  "Now get out, before I have you expelled.  And if you breathe a word of this to anybody, I'll make Blaine pay.  He's already going to pay in ways you'll never understand  for telling you these ... these lies about me.  You got that?"

"Got it," Kurt said, shakily picking up his bag, realizing just how insane this man was.  He was threatening to hurt Blaine all the while still trying to deny that anything wrong was going on.  And now ... what did he mean that Blaine would pay?  What had he done by trying to trap Miles?  He went to the door, opened it, and spoke over his shoulder without turning around again.  "But you get this.  If you even try to hurt him again."  He turned and looked full at Miles.  "I'll kill you."  

As he stormed out, he was startled to see Oliver and Wes just outside.  

"We - we were waiting for Mr. Stevens," Wes said, uneasily.  He put a hand on Oliver's back, and Kurt shrugged, and brushed past them.

 


	23. Consequences

"Hey, Kurt!" a voice called out behind him.   He turned to see Blaine smiling happily as he came down the spiral staircase.   "I missed you," Blaine said, hurrying forward to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"It's only been two hours," Kurt laughed weakly.  

"It felt like a year."  Blaine frowned.  "What's the matter?  You look upset."

Kurt swallowed hard.  "I - might have made a mistake.  I was trying to - to help - about Miles."

Blaine stopped in the middle of the hallway.  "Did - did you tell somebody?  Kurt - you promised you wouldn't without talking to me - warning me first -"

"No - no, it's not that.  I didn't report him.  But - I confronted him.  About you."

The swarm of students rushed around them, most of them leaving for holiday, other than the Warblers who were heading toward the common room.  

Blaine's mouth fell open, and he ran a hand over his smooth dark hair.  "I - I have to say I'm impressed.  But ... also worried.  Now he knows you know, and that might be bad for both of us."

"Please don't hate me - I was trying to scare him into leaving you alone, by - threatening to tell - and - "

A hand clapped on his shoulder, and he turned to see Wes and David staring at him, with Thad standing behind them, arms crossed.  "Kurt.  We have to talk about the situation with you and Mr. Stevens."

"Wes says he overheard you threaten - well, to kill him," Thad said.  "A teacher, our advisor - and In front of his son, who is also a member of this group.  You know there are strict policies against bullying and harassment in this school."

"We value you as a Warbler, but death threats pretty much violate everything Dalton, and the Warblers, stand for," Wes said sternly.  "Oliver was very upset."

"And you're afraid Poppy will be upset, am I right, Wes?" Blaine interrupted.  "C'mon.  You can't seriously think Kurt even said what you thought you heard, let alone meant it.  He's the kindest, most moral person I know."

"I heard it, Blaine," Wes said.  "I was as surprised as you are."

"Isn't it possible you misheard it?  What possible reason would Kurt have for threatening Mr. Stevens?" Blaine protested.  Kurt looked at the ground, avoiding Wes' and David's eyes.  Blaine looked past them, and nodded his head, pointing.  "Here he is now.  Let's just clear this up."

"Blaine-" Kurt said, alarmed, but Blaine called out to Miles.

"Mr. Stevens?  I think there's been a misunderstanding.  Wes thought he overheard something when Kurt was speaking to you earlier, and I'm sure he's mistaken.  Could we speak to you about it?"

Miles looked at Blaine for just a moment - a glance passed between them.  Kurt was sick at the thought of the history between them, of the intimacy - forced though it might be - in that look.  And by the fact that Blaine was appealing for a favor on his behalf to Miles.  

"Wes and Oliver thought they heard Kurt threaten your life," Blaine said, still looking straight at Miles.  "I'm sure that's not right - they misheard what Kurt said, am I right?"

Miles smirked, and looked triumphantly at Kurt.  "Absolutely - Kurt and I were just discussing an assignment - there was no - - "

"I did say it," Kurt interrupted.  "I said I'll kill you.  I was mad because I asked for more time on my term paper outline, and Mr. Stevens said no. That's all.  I -  didn't mean it, but that's no excuse.  I apologize."

Blaine slipped his hand into Kurt's, looking at him quizzically.  

"Well," Miles shrugged.  "I didn't hear any of it - so I have no trouble accepting your apology.  No hard feelings."  He slapped Kurt on the back, a little too hard, and passed by into the common room, heading over to where Oliver was watching from the couches.  

"So that settles that," Blaine said cheerily.  "Right guys?"

The council members exchanged glances.  "If Mr. Stevens is okay with that, then we are, I guess," Wes said uncertainly.  "We'll let it drop."

"Great.  We'll be right in."  Blaine tightened his grip on Kurt's hand, and drew him off to the benches, while the council members went into the common room. When the last of the crowd of running boys was gone, and the hallway clear, he burst out, "Kurt!  Did you really threaten to kill Miles?"

"Yes," Kurt said shortly.  "Only to try to scare him into leaving you alone.  He threatened - he threatened to hurt you because of me, and. I couldn't stand that, Blaine."

Blaine brought Kurt's hand up to his lips and kissed it. "Oh, Kurt - -"

Kurt turned Blaine's chin up, and tried to be stern.  "Blaine.  That's not the point, here.  Why did you ask him to cover for me?  Now he thinks we owe him!  I'd rather quit the Warblers, get expelled, than have that!"

"But then I'd be alone here," Blaine whispered.  The afternoon sun shone through the windows, gleaming over his face, lighting up his golden eyes, and taking Kurt's breath away.  "Look, forget about him.  We have an hour and a half of practice, and then we go to your house for four whole days!  I won't have to see him for four whole days!"

"But he said he'd hurt you!  What if he - -"

"Kurt, put all that out of your mind.  Please?  He'll have forgotten all about it by the time we get back.  And - - I'm so happy to be going home with you.  Please forget Miles and be happy too?"

Kurt sighed, as Blaine made puppy-dog eyes.  "I'll try.  But I'm not sure about Warbler practice.  Can't we just ditch it?"

"Not a chance, after your big death threat move put you on Wes' radar.  C'mon, Dirty Harry.  Let's sing together and then go home."


	24. Planning for Formal

"That's probably enough practice for tonight," Wes called out after the final harmonized notes on their showstopper for Regionals faded away.  "Sounds great.  And unless there's any new business, we'll see you all after Thanksgiving."

Miles had been watching silently in the corner all night, so much so that Kurt had nearly been able to ignore his presence; but he suddenly rose at Wes' words.  "Council Member Wes, could I address the group, please?"

"Certainly, Advisor Stevens," Wes said, after a glance at Thad and David.  "You have the floor."   The rest of the Warblers reluctantly took their seats around the common room and waited, some of them sneaking glances at pocket watches.

"I know you're all in a hurry to get out of here for Thanksgiving break, so I'll keep this short and sweet, boys."  Miles moved to the front of the room, and stood directly facing Blaine and Kurt.  "As you're aware, the Winter Formal is coming up in December.  I'm the faculty advisor for the Events Committee here at Dalton, and I have a proposal.  The Committee has hired a DJ for the event, but no live entertainment.  I suggest that, to keep sharp for competition - - the Warblers step in and perform some live numbers while the DJ is on breaks.  My daughter Poppy is captain of the Crawford County Day School Nightingales.  They've offered to join you and present a co-ed accapella experience."   The Warblers murmured, generally approvingly, at the idea around Kurt and Blaine, with a few exceptions.  Kurt saw Blaine's face fall in disappointment; but ... Wes and Oliver looked ... surprised.  And Thad and David looked downright annoyed.

Miles looked around the room, then stopped his gaze on Blaine and Kurt.  "I'd even be there to evaluate your performance.  I'll be one of the chaperones this year."

"Along with your wife, Mr. Stevens?" Kurt asked coldly.

"Of course, with his wife, Warbler Kurt," Wes snapped.  "And I remind you - again - that you must be recognized by the council before speaking.  It's not a difficult concept."

"It's okay, Wes," Miles hushed him.  "Kurt, you'll get your turn.  As I was saying.  I think three sets of three songs each would be - -"

The room burst into dismayed babbling protests.  "May I be heard, Council Members?" Kurt yelled over the din, jumping up.  He knew, with unerring instinct, where this was headed.  Miles would keep the Warblers and Nightingales in rehearsals all hours, then at the Formal they'd be stuck on stage half the night.  Miles would probably find other ways to keep him and Blaine from having any time alone whenever he could, just for spite and jealousy, and especially to ruin the Formal for him and Blaine.  He wouldn't allow it.

"Kurt, look," Wes shouted while banging his gavel for order, "Mr. Stevens has the fl--"

Kurt plowed ahead over Wes' last words.  "Thank you, Council Member Wes.  I move to decline Advisor Stevens' suggestion.  One or two songs - - the ones we're working on for Regionals - - makes sense, and let the Nightingales sing a short set, rather than both teams having to learn three entire new sets right before competition.  That'll mean even more rehearsal, all wasted as far as Regionals goes.  And we wouldn't get any time with our dates," he said, looking evenly at Miles, while resting a hand on Blaine's shoulder.  "Everyone else would be dancing with their boyfriends or girlfriends.  It'll only detract from both the Formal and Regionals."  He was happy to hear applause and "hear, hears" from the other boys.

"I second the motion," Trent called out.  "There's no place to go out and have fun dancing in this town - especially if you're gay.  I don't want to spend the whole night performing. I asked a boy to the dance and I want to dance with him."

"And the next two weeks in practice until who knows when, to learn all those songs just for a dance," Jeff added. "I call for a vote."

"Hold on. We haven't opened the floor to any arguments in favor of this proposal," Wes protested, banging his gavel on the desk.  "Anyone?"

The room was silent, and Kurt looked around.  "Well.  Maybe we don't even need to vote, it's pretty clear nobody wants to do it."

"How about you, Wes?" Miles said.  "You were all for it, last week at dinner, when Poppy brought it up.  I know Poppy was hoping to sing with you."

Wes looked uncomfortable.  Kurt almost felt sorry for him.  Obviously, Poppy was pushing him to do this, as part of her plan to keep Miles too busy for his extra-marital affair.  Little did she know, there was no "other woman", and that she was forcing the "other man" to spend twice as much time as usual with her father.

"I'm a little unprepared for the debate," Wes hedged.  "You - - sir, you seemed -- well, I didn't think you were interested when she brought it up, so I never approached the rest of the council with it."  He looked at a disapproving Thad and David.  

Oliver piped up from the corner, where he was curled up in the window seat half hidden by the curtains.  "That's true, Dad.  What made you change your mind?"

Miles spared a look for his young son.  "I reconsidered, because I think the extra practice will be good for the team, keep you sharp, get you in front of a crowd.  I hadn't ... quite given it enough thought."

Kurt pressed his lips together to keep silent, for now.  It was obvious what had changed his mind. _Finding out that Blaine was drifting away from him and into Kurt's arms._

David rubbed his eyes wearily.  "Once again, Kurt makes a good point.  We're perfecting the set list for Regionals, and we don't have time to learn a lot of new songs.  We'd be in rehearsal constantly.  And once again, this is the kind of proposal that should be discussed by the Council first, before it's put to a vote."

:"Maybe just ... use the Formal as a dress rehearsal for Regionals, learn a simple song with the 'Gales, and enjoy the dance?"  Wes said uncertainly.  "That would be a good compromise, and wouldn't disrupt our plans."

Miles shrugged.  "I don't know, boys.  Regionals is a few weeks away.  If you spend all your time just singing your competition songs, they'll get stale for you.  And, as crazy as it sounds, there's possible espionage from other clubs.  I understand Vocal Adrenaline planted a spy in New Directions last year to spy on them."

"That's - ugh, that's not even what happened.  Jesse St. James was a loathsome human being, but he wasn't in the club to spy," Kurt said.  

"No, but you came here at first for that very reason, didn't you, Kurt?" Miles said, still smiling a wide, fake grin.  "I think it's pretty foolish to preview your set list at a dance that anybody could come to as one of your dates, or one of the Crawford County Day girls' dates.  As a spy yourself, I'm sure you have to admit that."

"Kurt's not a spy," Blaine said coldly in the stunned silence that followed.  "I second the motion for a vote.  I don't mind singing a song or two, maybe learn one new song with the Nightingales, but not all night.  This dance is too important to me.  I've waited too long to go to a dance with a boy I really like."  He smiled up at Kurt.  

"Mr. Stevens, I think the sentiment of the group is clear ... we may be Warblers, but we're also students here and we'd like to have fun at our own Winter Formal," David said, finally.  "I move that we prepare one of our competition songs for the dance; do one new one with the Nightingales, if Mr. Stevens will be so kind as to put together the arrangement with Wes and Poppy; and the Gales can do whatever number of songs they want to commit to.  Surely that'll cover the DJ's breaks."

The modified proposal passed the vote, and the meeting finally adjourned.  The Warblers cavorted around each other, wishing each other a Happy Thanksgiving and making a break for the exits.  Miles slithered over to Kurt, and reached out to shake his hand.  

As Kurt tried to pull his hand away, Miles leaned in.  "You have a good weekend.  But count on this," he murmured.  "He's my property, and I plan to fight for what's mine."


	25. Dad's Here

"I can't believe that guy," Kurt fumed.  "You're his  _property_.  He's crazy."

Blaine turned to scan the parents swarming around the front steps of the dorm.  "I wonder if I can guess which one is your Dad."

"Just look for the baseball cap, that's probably him in this crowd.  But about Miles - -"

"I don't want to talk about Miles, or what he said to you, okay?  Can we just put a moratorium on that discussion and enjoy this weekend?  Please?" Blaine pointed.  "That guy!  That must be your dad. I like his face," he whispered.   Kurt smiled.  Everybody liked Dad - he was the father everybody wished they had.  And he was lucky enough, to have him for a father.

"Hey, Kiddo," Burt said, reaching out to give Kurt a bear hug.  "This all you're bringing?" he teased, glancing at the pile of luggage beside them.  

"Not all," Kurt said.  "Dad, this is Blaine Anderson.  Blaine, this is my father, Burt Hummel."

"The best friend," Burt said, reaching out to shake Blaine's hand.  

"The boyfriend," Kurt corrected.  

"That's new."  Burt's hand tightened on Blaine's.  Blaine visibly jerked in surprise ... and for a brief moment, fright, before he recovered and smiled.  

"Yes, sir.  It is new.  And we're  _still_ best friends," he directed at Kurt.  

Burt looked intently at Blaine for a moment.  "That's good, son."  His eyes fell on Blaine's single bag, slung over his shoulder, then around the area.  "Do you have anything else?"

"Blaine travels light, Dad.  Not like me.   Can you bring the car around for mine?"

"Sure, son.  Blaine, you mind watching all of Thurston Howell III's luggage here for a minute while we go get the car?"

Blaine nodded with another bright smile, and sat down on the trunk, setting his duffel bag down beside it.  "I got this, sir."

As they walked down the paved path to the parking lot, Kurt looked anxiously at his father.  He hoped Dad wasn't planning on some 'tough dad', 'don't mess with my son' kind of routine with his first boyfriend.  Blaine was going through enough.  "So.  What do you think of him?" he ventured, as they reached the car.

Burt pointed the key at the car and unlocked it.  "I'm a little off guard.  I could have used a little warning, to get used to my little boy having a boyfriend, before I met him."

"It really did just happen officially."

"When you asked if he could stay, I missed where Blaine is from that he couldn't get home for the weekend?"

Kurt climbed into the passenger seat beside his father.  "He's ... from New York."

"I can kinda see why going all the way home is a lot for a weekend.  But ... you asked for him to stay with us at Winter Recess too.  So ... he only sees his folks when he goes home for the summer?"

Kurt looked out the window.  He and Blaine had a detailed discussion of how much his family could be told. Kurt was insistent that they tell no outright lies, but Blaine had refused to agree to divulge certain aspects of his past.  It hurt to have another secret from Dad. He'd promised Karofsky would be the last.

He changed the radio station from easy listening to top 40, answering lightly. "Actually, Dad,  Blaine doesn't really have parents.  He doesn't know his dad, and ... he hasn't seen his mother for years.  He stays at Dalton for summer session."

Burt pulled the car up in front of the dorm entrance, where Blaine was sitting alone, watching the other boys greet their mothers and fathers.  Kurt was surprised at how blank his expression was, how tired he looked.  But then he turned his head and saw Kurt, and it was as if the sun had come out in his eyes, lighting up with happiness.  He waved and jumped up, dragging one of Kurt's trunks behind him toward the car. 

"Poor kid," Burt murmured.  "No family.  Well, we can make him feel at home at our house, then."

"Thanks, Dad," Kurt whispered before getting out to help Blaine hoist his trunk into the trunk.  


	26. Over His Head

Coming to Kurt's house for the weekend could have been a daunting prospect for many new boyfriends.  There were a lot of hurdles to jump over - - first the stern-seeming, plain-talking Dad as test number one.  But Blaine soon showed he was equal to any social situation.

He was slightly evasive, but quiet and respectful, confident and poised with Dad, winning him over by the end of the car ride home, and sealing the deal when he jumped out of the car and insisted on being the one to help carry Kurt's half-ton of luggage up the back stairs and into his room, taking three trips.  Kurt went back out to the car with Blaine a final time to get his last bag and Blaine's only one, and nodded at the house.  "Let's go in the front with these and say hi to Finn.  I heard him in the living room playing video games with his friends."  Time for test number two.

When they came into the living room, duffel bags slung over their shoulders, sure enough Finn was playing Halo with Sam and Puck.  The three of them, even seated, seemed to take up the entire room with their bulk and noise - - and then Finn stood up to his full 6'4" and lumbered over to give Kurt a hug.  

"So this is your gay Dalton friend," he said, turning his innocent, honest eyes on Blaine.

"Well, yes," Blaine chuckled.  "I guess that's not ... wrong."

"Hey, Dalton!  Nice to meet you," Sam called out from the couch.  "I'm Sam by the way.  Sam I am," he started, before Puck gave him a foul look.

"It's - Blaine, actually - -"

"Any friend of Kurt's a friend of ours, Blaine," Finn said affably.

" _Blaine_ isn't just a friend," Kurt said.  Finn looked curiously at him.  "He's my boyfriend."

Finn's eyes narrowed a bit as he turned and looked Blaine up and down, and Kurt was suddenly reminded just how much smaller Blaine was.  Finn towered over him, but Blaine stuck out his hand and turned on his smile to full wattage.  "Nice to meet you, Finn.  Kurt's always bragging about his big football star brother.  I assume we'll be watching the game tomorrow?"

Kurt held his breath, and finally Finn smiled and nodded, shaking Blaine's hand.  "Well, Sam introduced himself, but that's Puck there."

Blaine's eyes flickered to the television screen, frozen while Finn was greeting them.  "What's this?  Halo?  Can I join you?"

Sam grinned and made room on the couch, but Puck wasn't quite sold on Blaine yet.  He took a swig of soda and muttered, "We only got three controllers."

"Not a problem," Blaine said smoothly.  "Kurt mentioned the Halo marathons you guys like to have, so I came prepared."  He reached into his bag and pulled out two used controllers.  "I play Halo in the common room from time to time at Dalton.  I picked these up used at Game Stop.  Kurt?  Want to make it a five-some?"

"I'll pass," Kurt said, amused.  "But you go ahead.  I have to unpack."

"Need any help?"  

"No, you take it easy and enjoy the game with the boys," Kurt said.  "I'm going to call Mercedes and Tina anyway, let them know I'm home, and ... "  he paused.  

"What is it, Kurt?" Blaine asked anxiously.  

"I - - was going to ask the girls over for a sleepover, since we haven't seen each other in a while.  But that's pretty inconsiderate when I have a guest," Kurt said.  

Blaine looked relieved. "Is that all?  Don't think twice, Kurt.  If you want me to stay clear of your time with the girls, I will - or I can join you.  Either way.  I understand you're looking forward to seeing everyone."

"You're the best," Kurt whispered, dying to kiss him but a little hesitant in front of others.  

Blaine settled it by kissing him softly on the cheek.  "See you in a few minutes, I hope?"  

Kurt blushed proudly, well aware that Finn and Puck were watching, and seeing him with a boy who liked him for himself.  He preened a little, and nodded, before turning to head upstairs.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

Mercedes was the only one of his friends whose parents okayed a sleepover the night before Thanksgiving.  Blaine kept hanging with the boys, giving Kurt and Mercedes a chance to catch up.  

"So ... you're a couple now," Mercedes said.  "I guess congratulations are in order."

"You guess?"

Mercedes took a handful of popcorn.  "What happened with that Mr. Stevens guy?" she said bluntly.

Kurt shrugged, looking away.  "That's ... complicated."

"What do you mean, complicated?"  Mercedes demanded.  "Were they seeing each other, or what?"

How to explain this horror show to anyone else, without betraying Blaine?  

"Blaine and Miles ... look, Mercedes.  I want to tell you the whole story, but I can't.  It's not my story to tell.  Just know that Blaine is a good person, and he's ... in trouble, and I'm trying to help him."

Mercedes' kind face softened.  "Oh, Kurt.  That sounds more than complicated.  Are you sure you're not in over your head?"

His clock ticked in the silence that followed.  "Actually.  I'm sure I am."

    

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

"Kurt?"  Someone was tapping on the door to his room.  "Kurt, wake up, bro."

He was in his bed, in his darkened room at home ... Mercedes was asleep on an air mattress nearby ... and Finn's giant head was outlined in the light from the door.  Oh.  Right, he was home for the holiday weekend, and had a late-night gabfest with the girls.    But what did Finn want?

Finn tapped on the door, a little more urgently.  "Kurt.  C'mon, you gotta come to my room.  Something's wrong with Blaine."

He sat up quickly and threw back the covers, rushing to the door and opening it a crack.  Finn's giant head was silhouetted in the doorway.  "Where is he?"

"In my room.  He - was having a nightmare and - -"  
  


Mercedes sat up groggily.  "What's going on?  Kurt?"

"Go back to sleep, Mercedes," Kurt whispered.  "I'll be right back."

Kurt rushed down the hallway, Finn trailing behind at a respectful distance.  This room was dim too - - and Kurt couldn't see Blaine in the spare cot they'd set up for him earlier.  "Where -- "

Finn whispered, "Over there.  In the corner."

Kurt's eyes adjusted to the shadows and he saw that Blaine was crouched in the space between Finn's dresser and the wall.  Shaking.  

Clearing his throat, Finn continued to whisper, "I woke up and he was - tossing and turning but - I could hear him saying  _no, please stop_ , like over and over, but he wasn't screaming.  He was - - like - - he couldn't breathe, gasping, I guess.  I - went over and tried to wake him up, make sure he was okay.  I didn't meant to scare him!"

Mercedes appeared behind Finn, tying her robe and rubbing sleep from her eyes.  "Is somebody sick?" she asked.  "Why is Blaine in the corner?"

"You touched him to wake him up?" Kurt murmured as he approached slowly.  

"Yeah, I - - I know you're not supposed to wake up a sleepwalker but I didn't know I wasn't supposed to wake up someone having a bad dream - -"

Kurt turned on the small lamp on Finn's bedside table, and Blaine flinched, cowering down lower in the corner.  

"He kept saying something about - - going somewhere, I think.  Something about miles," Finn said.

Mercedes gasped, and Kurt gave her a warning look, before turning his attention to Blaine.  "Blaine, it's okay.  It's me, Kurt.  You're safe," he said in a clear, firm voice.  "You were having a nightmare and you need to wake up for me.  Okay?"

Blaine gasped audibly, and Kurt knelt beside him.  "You're shaking - - are you cold?"

Mercedes ran to grab a blanket off the bed and hand it to Kurt, who draped it over Blaine's shoulders.  "What else do you need, Blaine?" he asked, softly, slipping an arm around Blaine's back.  He was shocked to find it damp with sweat. 

"I need a drink," Blaine said, his teeth chattering.

"Finn, can you get a glass of water - -"

 _"No!"_ Blaine shook his head violently, his eyes wild and wide open, staring at Kurt in desperation.  "I need a  _drink!"_


	27. Shaking

"Is he talking about  _alcohol_?" Mercedes hissed.  "Kurt, is he an alcoholic?"

"No!  Of course he's not!" Kurt snapped back.  Blaine was always so put together, so ... dapper.  He couldn't be an alcoholic, like ... like some old drunk.  

"Please, just ... just one, to get me through the night, Kurt," Blaine pleaded.  "I'm so sorry I'm embarrassing you - - I really thought I could handle it for a few days if I was with you - -"

"We don't have any liquor in the house.  Burt gave it up when he had his heart attack," Finn said.  "I could call Puck, if he really needs a drink."

"We can't call Puck at this time of night for booze!  If I'm here for him, he'll get through it," Kurt protested.

"I think he's really sick, Kurt," Mercedes started.

"I'm sorry, Kurt.  I'm sorry. I haven't had anything since this morning - - I've been trying to be better - - and I didn't want to put any in my bag.  I assumed there'd be something I could sneak, if I had to.  But there wasn't even Listerine, or cough syrup, in the medicine cabinet," Blaine cried.  

"You - you checked?  You were going to drink _mouthwash_?" Kurt said, sickened.  Blaine was shaking all over, and too far gone to even seem embarrassed or ashamed. 

"Kurt, please help me," Blaine begged.  "Please!  Maybe there's cooking wine, or _something_ to take the edge off!" 

Mercedes turned around and started to the door.  "I'm getting your mom," she said over her shoulder.

"No, don't - -" Kurt started, rushing after her.  "Let me figure something out - -"

"No, Kurt.  This is way too big for you to try to handle!  Blaine needs help.  If you don't want to be the bad guy, I will."  Mercedes shook off Kurt's hand, but before she could take another step, the light was turned on, and Burt and Carole were standing in bathrobes in the hallway.

"You kids mind telling us what the hell's going on here?" 


	28. Necessary

 

"I - I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hummel," Blaine managed.  "I'm not feeling that well.  I didn't mean to disturb anybody."

Carole stepped forward, concerned.  "What's wrong, honey?"  When Blaine barely responded, she reached out a hand and touched his forehead, then took his wrist, looking at Finn's alarm clock.  "Sweaty - - and your eyes are a bit dilated.  Are you sick to your stomach?"  

"A little," Blaine said faintly.  

"Pulse is over 100," Carole murmured.  "And you're very pale.  Do you have a headache?"

Blaine closed his eyes.  "Yes ..."

"Kurt," Mercedes said grimly.  "Tell her."

"Tell me what, Kurt?"  Carole asked.  "Is there something I should know?"

Burt scowled.  "Have you kids been doing drugs in here, because I won't have that in my house."

"Nobody's doing any drugs," Kurt insisted.  "Everyone can go on back to bed.  I'll get Blaine some Tylenol and - -"

"Mrs. Hummel ... Blaine was asking for alcohol when we came in here, and I think he's in withdrawal," Mercedes interrupted him.  She glanced at Kurt apologetically.  "I'm sorry, Kurt - - but --  I volunteer at the hospital on weekends, and I've seen people come in for detox looking just like that.  I heard the doctors say it's dangerous to try to do it alone."

"That - that's not - - Blaine isn't an alcoholic!  He - hardly ever - -"

"Blaine?  Is that true?  How often do you drink?" Carole asked.  "Please tell the truth.  It could be very dangerous if you're in withdrawal, and you try to handle it yourself."

Kurt's heart ached as Blaine squeezed his eyes shut tighter in shame.  "I drink ... almost every day."

"When did you start drinking, Blaine?  Finn, go get some Gatorade, please."  

Finn scurried out of the room.  Blaine rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and tried to form words.  "I don't know.  A few years ago.  But ... I don't get really drunk, ma'am.  I just .... take ... enough to get through ...."  he trailed off, listlessly, as if confused. "I didn't know this would happen if I skipped one night ..."

Finn came skidding back into the room with a large, bright red bottle of Gatorade and a bag of styrofoam cups.  "It's not cold, but - -"

"That's just as well.  Here," Carole said kindly.  She held a cup with perhaps an inch of Gatorade at the bottom, to Blaine's pale lips.  "Sip it, slowly.  Honey, I think Mercedes is right.  This looks like acute withdrawal.  Not the most serious case I've seen, but we have no way of knowing how bad it'll get before it peaks.  It's too risky to try to manage this at home.  We need to take you to the Emergency Department right now, and get you admitted to their detox program."  

"Are you sure that's necessary?" Kurt asked anxiously.  Blaine reached out a shaking hand and rested it on Kurt's arm; and Kurt turned to look at him.

Blaine nodded, his eyes unfocused.  "I think ... it's necessary."

 


	29. Happy Thanksgiving

"And here's the turkey," Carole announced, placing the enormous roasted bird in front of Burt.  

"You outdid yourself, hon," Burt exclaimed.  "Look at this table."  

Kurt looked at it.  Aside from the canned cranberry sauce standing at attention in its can-shaped, glistening glory, the box-mix stuffing, and the turkey itself, there was a spread of unidentifiable, identical-looking white or tan casseroles, bearing mystery ingredients either "creamed" with canned mushroom soup, white sauce, or mayonnaise; or topped with browned cheese or corn chips or canned fried onion rings, or more likely - both creamed and crunch-topped.  His gaze rested on a two-handled china gravy-boat, his grandmother's, full of what looked like canned turkey gravy already thickening as it cooled.  Not a fresh vegetable in sight.  

This was what came of being too upset to take over Thanksgiving dinner.  The fresh cranberry sauce, the sauteed fresh vegetables, the homemade biscuits and pie he'd planned to make with Blaine's help, were still in their ingredient form in the pantry and refrigerator.  He didn't care about making anything this year, not when Blaine was in so much trouble.

"So.  How about a Thanksgiving grace?" Carole suggested.  Kurt rolled his eyes.  

"I'll do it, Mrs. H," Puck said from across the table.  He took Rachel's hand on one side, his mother's on the other.  Finn, there with his mom, took Rachel's other hand and his mom's. Mrs. Puckerman took LeRoy's hand, who in turn, held his husband's hand. Burt reached out and offered a hand to Kurt, and he sighed, taking it, and took Hiram's free hand.  So ridiculous.  

"Over the teeth and past the gums, look out stomach here it comes." Puck looked proudly around the table as everyone released hands and started to reach for the nearest casserole dish, and Burt began to carve the turkey. Finn cleared his throat.  "So.  Now we say what we're thankful for, right?  I'm thankful we're all a family this year."

Kurt looked at his plate.  Leave it to Finn to go first and take the easy, obvious one.

"And that Rachel and her dads, and Puck and his mom, could join us," Finn went on.  

Kurt felt a scowl coming on.

"Let's see.  I'm thankful that Mr. Schue gave me such great solos for Regionals, and a truly wonderful duet with Finn.  Sorry, Kurt, I can't tell you what they are, but we'll give you and Blaine a run for your money," Rachel chirped.  

"I'm sure," Kurt smirked at her meanly.  "Mr. Schue always watches out for you two.  His hetero-faves."

The table went quiet a second, before Carole piped up.  "Why don't we eat before everything gets cold?"

"I haven't gone yet," Kurt said.  "It's thankfulness time, right?" he added viciously.

"Kurt," Burt said.  "We know this has been a tough day for you - -"

"But don't ruin Thanksgiving for everyone, dude," Puck said. He plopped a puddle of creamed corn next to some marshmallow topped sweet potatoes on his plate.  "It's no big deal, your boyfriend needed to go dry out for a few days.  He'll be fine."

"Puck, c'mon.  Not cool.  Kurt's upset," Finn said.  "He really likes this guy."

"Try to eat something, Kurt," Carole urged him.  

"Thanks, Carole, but I can't."

Burt nudged his arm.  "Hey kiddo...I don't know him that well, but ... I'm sure Blaine wants you to try to have a good time."

Kurt felt tears prick behind his eyes.  "The thing is, I know he does.  I wonder what they're serving at the hospital today, while I sit here, like ... like everything's normal, when it's just not!"  he pushed back his chair with a clatter and rushed from the room, through the living room and out the front door, but there was nowhere to run where anyone would understand.


	30. Worries

"Knock, knock," Mercedes said, lingering by his bedroom door.  "Can I come in, or am I still unforgiven?"

Kurt laid his shirt-folding board on his Oxford shirt, bringing the sleeves in and then flipping so a neat rectangle was formed, then placed the folded shirt in his suitcase.  "C'mon in."

Mercedes came and sat on the edge of the bed.  "Any word from Blaine?"

"No.  They took his cellphone when he was admitted.  But if everything's going well, then he'll be out in a couple more days."

Taking a handful of socks, Mercedes started pairing and rolling them up.  "How are you holding up?"

He shrugged.  "Okay, I guess.  I mean, I had a boyfriend for like 48 hours, and now I'm going back to that school without him.   Back to the single life."  He picked up Blaine's outline for Miles' class and scanned it carefully.  He'd taken the liberty of finishing Blaine's as well as his own, rather than waste the whole weekend moping.  Having fun seemed out of the question, when Blaine was suffering through alcohol withdrawal, and he really didn't want Miles to have any excuse for giving Blaine a bad grade.  It looked perfect.  He'd hand this in on Blaine's behalf when he got to school.  He placed both papers carefully in his book bag.

"He'll be back up there soon, Kurt.  If not this week, then soon.  You won't be single for long."

"If he doesn't decide to steer clear of me after my friends and family got him carted off to rehab."

Mercedes tilted her head and rolled her eyes at him.  "Kurt.  Blaine agreed he needed help and went willingly.  And he could have checked himself out any time he wanted to  - he's in a voluntary detox program.  He wants to stop drinking and coming home with you, and wanting to do what he can to be healthy for you ... well, it gave him the push he needed."

"I know.  I just.  There's so many things to worry about."

"Like Miles?"

His hands stilled.  "You know. Blaine's addiction is Miles' fault."

"Oh, come on, Kurt.  I'm sure Miles didn't pour the drinks down Blaine's throat.  Blaine has to take some responsibility for his own drinking if he's ever going to get better."

Kurt slammed the suitcase shut.  "You know what, Mercedes?  You probably shouldn't talk so much about things you don't know anything about."

Mercedes' eyes filled with tears, and she laid the socks down on the bed.  "Maybe I should go."

Kurt was crying now too, at having hurt his friend's feelings.  "No.  Don't, Mercedes.  I'm sorry - it's not you I'm mad at."

"Blaine?" Mercedes sniffled, hugging him.  

"No.  Miles.  If you knew what I know ..." he cut off.  "I wish he was dead," he burst out.  "I wish he would just die and leave me and Blaine alone!"

 

 


	31. Ready

The room was bright and airy; the chairs were arranged in a circle.  Blaine listened intently to 18 year old Melissa to his left.  Melissa was talking about her parents.  They didn't understand her.  They just wanted to control her and make her into another version of themselves.  But she was somehow different.  She wasn't cut out for school, and wanted to just go to South America and backpack around, find herself, and they wouldn't just let her do that with her boyfriend.  Now he was down there, by himself, and she was stuck here in detox.  "It isn't fair," she finished, her arms crossed and her head hanging down.  

Blaine nodded sympathetically.  "You really love him, don't you?" he asked softly, reaching out and patting her shoulder.  "You must miss him so much. I know I miss my Kurt. But once you're well, you can spend time with him again.  And it'll be even better once you're sober."  Melissa looked up gratefully at him, and he smiled encouragingly.

"We're out of time," Susan, the group therapist, said, with a glance at the clock.  "Good session everyone.  You can head on down to the dining room for lunch.  Blaine, could you hold on for a minute?"

The other teenage patients filed out, and Blaine sat up even straighter on his chair.  Susan looked at her clipboard.  

"I see you're checking out today."

"Yes.  I'm in a one-week program, and it's finished.  Have to get back to Ku-" he paused.  Susan didn't like it when he talked too much about Kurt or made his recovery about Kurt.  "I have to get back to school," he amended.  

"You've done quite well medically, of course," she said.  "I'm just concerned about your lack of effort in therapy."

Blaine felt hurt.  "I always talk in group!  I listen and - -"

"Oh, you're always attentive.  You remember everything the others say and are supportive and engaged.  With them.  I don't think you've said one word about why you drink, or anything going on in your life other than your new boyfriend."

He picked at the sleeve of his sweater.  He was so glad that once he was off the medical floor, he could wear his own clothes.  He felt human again in them.  "He's the most important thing in my life right now."

"Blaine.  You know that for an addict, it's dangerous for you to be that dependent on another person for happiness or to motivate you to get well."

"He's the most important person in my life, but there are lots of things that are important in my life.  Like school, and my acapella group the Warblers, and my friends."  

"That's just it, Blaine.  Everything is supposedly peaches and cream in your life.  I feel like I haven't even scratched the surface with you yet.  You haven't even talked about when and why you started drinking.  About what triggers you."

Blaine swallowed hard.  "I don't want to talk about that."  He wasn't stupid.  Supposedly this all was top-secret confidential, but if a therapist found out he was being abused by a teacher, then she'd have to report it to someone.  Then he'd lose his spot at Dalton for sure, and he couldn't bear that.  All the things he just told Susan were important, would be gone - - Kurt, Dalton, his friends.  No.  He couldn't risk it.  He'd just have to deal with Miles the best he could until he graduated.

"You can't get well until you can talk about your pain," Susan said, leaning forward and looking directly at him.  He avoided her eyes.  "What were you just thinking about?  Is it ... your mom?" she guessed.

"She has nothing to do with this," he said dismissively.  "Can I go now?"

"We also have to talk about your discharge plan," Susan said.  "You've recovered from the physical withdrawal symptoms, but it's important you have some ongoing care, to avoid a relapse.  You need therapy, Blaine, and we've arranged for that to take place on an outpatient basis in Westerville."

"Okay," he said.  Anything to get out of here.

Susan looked at his file.  "And I don't like this living arrangement."

"What - what about it?" Blaine asked, frightened.  

"There's not enough adult supervision, and you're alone too much at night.  I won't approve your discharge, and Dr. Johnson won't either, unless something is done about that.  You should be on a regular dormitory floor, preferably with a roommate."

No way.  He didn't mind moving onto a busier floor, but he couldn't have a roommate.  His nightmares ... no.  He sometimes woke up crying or yelling - it had happened almost every night here - it had even happened at Kurt's when he was at his happiest and had believed the nightmares wouldn't come.  "I don't know anybody looking for a roommate," he said lightly.  

"The administration can look into that for you.  I'l call them and put in the request, if you sign a release."

"Okay, fine, if I have to.  But that'll take time and I want out today as planned, the roommate thing will have to wait."

Susan frowned.  "I still think you should stay inpatient, but Dr. Johnson apparently thinks you can have therapy outpatient and manage okay.  You've convinced him, anyway, if not me, that you're ready."


	32. Where is He

"That's all for today, boys.  See you next week," Miles announced, as the bell rang.  Kurt packed up his messenger bag, but Miles stood in front of his desk.  "Mr. Hummel.  I'd like to see you after class."

Kurt slumped back into his seat.  When the last blue blazer had disappeared out of the room, Miles got up from his desk, and Kurt flinched involuntarily.  Miles slid a paper onto his desk.  Blaine's outline for his term paper.

"I take it you handed this in for him?"

Shrugging, Kurt answered, "Yes, that's Blaine's assignment.  He wanted to make sure it got handed in on time."

Miles' eyes narrowed to a glint of steel blue.  "I would have given him an extension if he needed one."

"Well, there's no need for that.  If that's all - -"

"Where is he?" Miles demanded.

Kurt picked up the pen he'd left on the desk and clicked it closed. "Blaine?"  He inserted it into his jacket pocket.  "I have no idea," he lied smoothly.

"That's --" Miles drew a breath.  "That's bull.  He went home with you for Thanksgiving weekend.  He hasn't had his phone on since he left.  You have his paper.  You must know where he is."

"I don't.  And if I did, I would never tell you. Now I really must leave."  Kurt rose, brushing past Miles, whose hands were curled into fists.  

"I just want to know if he's all right," Miles choked out as Kurt headed to the exit.

Kurt stopped by the door.  "You know better than anybody that he's not.  You've made sure of that with all your abuse.  If you really care about him, just leave him alone."

He flung the door open and walked out without a backward glance.

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Warblers, come to order," Wes shouted.  

Lowering his voice once the room quieted, Wes continued,"We have some business to attend to before practice.  Specifically ... as I'm sure you all noticed, our lead singer has not returned from Thanksgiving break, and hasn't been in contact with the Council.  That leaves us somewhat at loose ends as far as practicing for Regionals and for the Winter Formal performance."

Kurt was keenly aware of Miles sitting in a straight-backed chair a few feet away from him, next to Oliver.  He kept his silence, though he knew Blaine was expected back sometime today.  He couldn't be sure, couldn't speak for Blaine, and he wanted to protect his privacy.

"It seems rather obvious.  If Blaine's dropped out or is ill, we'll need to hold auditions for a replacement lead," Miles said.  

"Replacement?" Jeff echoed from next to Kurt.  "Blaine's irreplaceable!"

Sassy Warbler Trent nodded, his smooth, round face a picture of moral umbrage.  "It's only been a few days - -"

"But has anyone even heard from him?" Thad interrupted.  "That's what concerns me.  Kurt.  He went home with you for the break, do you know why he isn't back yet?"

"Did you two have a fight?" Trent asked anxiously.  

"Of course not!" Kurt looked around the room at the clean-cut, concerned faces.  Sweat started to trickle down his back, and he felt uncomfortably humid in his poly blend jacket.  "He's just delayed a few days.  Trent and Jeff are right, it's too soon to talk replacements.  Why not just pick the songs and get the other parts ready without him.  Then when he gets back, he can just slide right in."

"That hardly seems fair," Miles said.  He flicked at a bit of lint clinging to his trouser leg.  "I'm sure some of the students who actually showed up for practice might want a chance at a solo.  Like Oliver here, or Wes, for that matter."

Oliver's face snapped upwards, bright red spots rising on his cheeks.  "Dad!  I'm only a freshman!"

"Blaine was lead singer as a freshman," Miles retorted.

David frowned.  "How did you know that, sir?"

Kurt turned to Miles, his eyebrow arched.  

"I'm a big fan of the Warblers, I am well aware of who the lead singer is, and has been, for over two years.  And all I'm saying is maybe it's time to mix it up a little, give someone else a chance."

"Blaine is an exceptional performer," David said, leaning back in his chair and looking at the ceiling.  "Not the best technical singer in the group.  Oliver certainly has better range and has a more formally trained voice.  But Blaine ... he's a real showman.  A born entertainer.  That stage presence ... it can't be easily replicated.  I'm not sure Oliver is ready to lead."

"Here's a proposal," Wes finally offered.  "Anyone who wants to try out to replace Blaine as lead singer, prepare something, and if Blaine's not back and ready to go by next meeting, we'll go ahead with tryouts.  Fair enough?"

The room erupted in "ayes" before Kurt could protest, and the motion was carried.

Kurt bit his lip in frustration, and Miles leaned over toward him.  "Guess Blaine had better hurry back," he whispered.

 

 

 


	33. welcome home

Blaine set down his duffel bag on the bed in his room.  The same room he'd occupied for all of his time here at Dalton, not just in the school terms but over vacations too. Miles had picked this room out for him.   _Trust me, Blaine.  This room will give you more privacy.  I know, I stayed here myself once,_ Miles had said.   _Easiest room on campus to sneak in and out of._  This small double room was home for him like no other place had ever been, not even his mother's place back in New York.  

He unpacked his bag and put away his things in their customary place, then squatted down to pull a shoe box out from the floor of his closet.  Opening it, he surveyed the contents.  Bottle of wine he'd wedged in diagonally before break, but had been too ashamed and afraid to take with him to Kurt's.  What a shock to realize, finally, just how badly he needed it.

Heading over to his spare bed, he pried the bottle out and dropped the box on the floor.  He sat down and wiggled the cork out bit by bit, then sat a moment with the cork in one hand, the bottle in the other.  Taking a deep breath, he stood and opened the window and held the bottle upside down out the window, watching the wine flow out in a river of red, into the snow outside.  

That done, he corked the empty bottle and replaced it in the box to smuggle out to the trash later. 

He kicked off his shoes and climbed onto his bed, taking a plastic bag from his duffel bag.  The hospital had returned his personal effects in it. Time to check his cell.

it powered up and he smiled to see the large number of notifications.  He opened his texts first. So many! All the Warblers and many of his classmates had texted. But he opened Kurt's first. There weren't that many - one or two a day to show Kurt was thinking of him and missed him.  He even finished Blaine's outline for Miles' class and handed it in. So sweet, and a lucky break. He'd forgotten all about that assignment.  He decided against texting back just yet. Kurt would be at Warblers practice, and he wanted to see him to tell him he was back. And give him the presents he'd made for him in crafts at the hospital. 

He skimmed through the other texts. Looked like everyone was concerned. He stopped at an unfamiliar number. That was probably Miles.

He considered ignoring or even deleting the text messages without subjecting himself to reading them. They were sure to be toxic. From what he'd gathered in group, it was important for his recovery to avoid toxic or triggering people. But Miles could get ... difficult... when he didn't respond. He'd been angry enough the week before Thanksgiving.  Better see what he was going to have to deal with. 

He opened the text conversation and started reading. 

 

**please call**

**I'm sorry - I know I did say you could see him**

**it's just I love you and don't want to lose you**

**we have a long history don't throw that away please**

**you haven't called back are you okay**

**I'll be up at 11 please call then**

**are you there**

**your phone is off you know I hate when you do that**

**i need to know where you are at all times you know that**

**don't make me come out there looking for you**

**why are you doing this**

**all I ever did was love you and look out for you and this is how you thank me**

**why aren't you back at school what are you doing answer me**

**you cant hide forever you have to come back eventually and face me**

**and when you do there will be consequences**

He scrolled faster. The message went on and on. Grammar, punctuation and spelling deteriorated, and he stopped reading, just scrolled aimlessly to see how long this diatribe lasted. The last message was a few moments ago.

**i see you**

**phone back on and you're reading this**

**and haven't responded you little spoiled brat**

**shouldve come to practice**

**so long to all your solos**

**and that's just the start of your punishment**

Blaine saw little dots indicating Miles was still typing.  He stared at the phone a second.

He deleted the conversation with a flick of his thumb and turned the phone back off.

Enough.


	34. Together Again

A tap on his dorm room door startled Blaine awake.  He sat up, disoriented for a moment, and glanced at the clock.  He'd dozed off ... and it was nearly dinnertime.  He rubbed his eyes and called out, "Who is it?"

"It's me, Kurt!"

Blaine was instantly wide awake and leaped up out of bed, pulling the door open to beam at Kurt, standing in the doorway holding a bouquet of red and yellow roses.  "Kurt!  They're beautiful!" he said, giving Kurt a kiss and taking the flowers.  "So romantic!"

"I missed you," Kurt said.  He looked down at his hands.  "Did - did you miss me?"

"Every minute.  C'mon in.  We only have a few minutes before dinner bell.  I have some things for you too."

He went to his bag and pulled out a number of small items.  "Sit down on the bed."  When Kurt obliged, Blaine handed him a leather key chain in a Burberry pattern.  "For your dorm room key," he said.  "It'll match Pavarotti's cage cover."

"I love it?" Kurt immediately put his dorm key on it.  "It has my initials!  Did you make this yourself?"

"Yes.  And this too."  Blaine shyly held out a handmade book, white with a bare hint of purple, bound with purple ribbon. Kurt reached out and took it.  Blaine sat down beside him on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, as Kurt gazed at the blank cover of the book a moment, admiring the thick paper with flecks of dried flower petals embedded in it.

"Is this handmade paper?" Kurt asked, running his finger along the irregular edges.  

"Yes, you take scrap paper and rip it up, and put it in a blender.  I put little tiny flower petals in the blender, but you don't have to. Then you pour the mushed up paper into a kind of frame thing with a screen, and put a layer of felt on.   Then you keep going until you make a stack of it, and you squeeze out the water, and then separate the sheets and put them out to dry, and a few hours later, voila.  Paper!"

"I love it.  So pretty."   Kurt opened the book to read.  The text was simple, with only a few words on each page written in Blaine's neat, painstaking script with a calligraphy pen.  

 _Excuse me, I'm new here_  was written on the first page.   _You make me feel like a teenage dream_ flowed across the next.   _My best friend forever_ _._ _My hero._  Kurt's eyes smarted at that one.   _The song in my heart.  My reason to smile.  The light of my life.  My one true love.  Kurt + Blaine._ Kurt looked up and smiled.  "I love this so much.  I'll keep it forever."  

They sat and gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment, before leaning in at the same time for a kiss.  Just as their lips met, the shrill dinner bell blared, startling them apart, but only for a second. "We have five minutes before the second warning," Blaine pointed out hopefully.

Laughing, Kurt drew Blaine down to the bed, kissing as they went.  

 


	35. Resolved

They walked toward the dining hall, swinging their joined hands between them.  Kurt hated to break the mood, but.  When they got to the dining hall, he expected Blaine to be swarmed by their classmates.  His disappearance for a few days had been the topic of a lot of speculation.  He wouldn't get a chance to talk freely there.  He drew Blaine to a slow walk.

"We'd better hurry, Kurt.  The second bell already rang, and we're going to be the last ones on line as it is."

"Blaine.  There's something you should know.  Miles has been asking me a lot of questions about you - -"

Blaine stopped in the middle of the path. "He's been bothering you?"

"That doesn't matter," Kurt scoffed.  "I've dealt with bullies before.  But he suggested in Warbler meeting that open auditions be held to replace you if you didn't show up before the next meeting.  I think he wanted to pressure me into telling where you were and when you'd be back."

"That's probably part of it," Blaine agreed.  He started walking again, gently tugging on Kurt's hand.  "He's also trying to teach me a lesson about ignoring his texts."

"He texted you?"

"That's an understatement.  He wrote a threatening novel, is more like it."

"Threatening?"

Blaine frowned.  This was cutting into his special Kurt time.  "Listen, I'm used to that.  He's a problem, but ... I've decided I'm going to try to find a way to get him off our backs.  Once and for all.  I just have to plan it carefully, so I don't end up losing everything in the process."

The third bell for dinner rang.

"Shoot!  We'd better run," Blaine laughed.  "C'mon!" They took off, skidding and sliding on the slippery path.


	36. Faking It

They made it into the dining hall just as the doors were being closed.  Dalton's dining hall, like the rest of the school, was marble-tiled and wood-paneled, with drapery hanging at the floor-to-ceiling windows all around the room.  The early birds were nearly finished eating already, but service was still ongoing.  As they approached the window at the far end of the room where trays were handed out, Kurt was reminded again that Blaine was the big man on campus.  Boys called out to Blaine from their tables, or turned to greet him, asking how he was, from all sides.  

"Blaine," one voice rose above the others.  Kurt turned with Blaine, to look at Wes, sitting at a table with Thad, David, and Oliver Stevens.  "Glad to see you're back.  We missed you at practice today."

"So I heard.  But not so much, I gather; I'm already being replaced?" 

 The group looked uncomfortably at each other.  

"That was just a contingency plan, Blaine," Thad finally said.

"There isn't any need for tryouts as far as I'm concerned, Blaine. We had that process at the beginning of the year and you were chosen by a clear majority, and you're back now," David said.  "So."

"Agreed," Thad said.  

Wes set down his glass.  "Well, not everyone got a chance to try out.  Oliver and Kurt, to name two people who weren't here when we were doing lead singer auditions, and didn't get a vote either."

"Considering Oliver didn't even make the cut the first two times he auditioned for membership, I hardly think he's a serious contender," Kurt said.  "And I certainly don't intend to challenge Blaine for lead this year.  Maybe next year," he said slyly, threading his fingers through Blaine's.  He felt a prick at his conscience when he saw Oliver's face fall at his comment.

"Oliver's a talented singer," Wes protested.  "And as a member of the club, he has the right to try out for lead."

"Wes, stop," Oliver mumbled, looking down at the mess of dinner he was nervously stirring.  "It's my Dad who's pushing me to try out.  And Poppy and him who are pushing Wes to make it happen," he said, letting his fork drop with a clatter.  "I'm fine in the background. I wouldn't want lead.  And..." he turned deeper red, pushing the plate away.  "And Kurt's right. I'm not good enough."

"Listen, Oliver ... I was out of line," Kurt said.  "I shouldn't have said ... I'm sorry.  Don't sell yourself short because of my big mouth."

"Kurt's right," Blaine chimed in.  At Kurt's look, he chuckled, "Not about your big mouth.  About Oliver not selling himself short.  Most of performing is about being confident in yourself, and you have no reason not to be."

"Thanks, you guys," Oliver said, looking up finally.  "I appreciate the encouragement.  Just getting up in front of an audience as part of the group is intimidating enough for me."

Blaine grinned.  "No problem.  Just remember to believe in yourself, and sell it to your audience.  You'll be fine."

"Is that your secret?" Kurt asked, squeezing Blaine's hand.  "Self-confidence?"

"That's it in a nutshell," Blaine smiled.  "Fake it till you make it."

Kurt's smile faltered a little.  

"Let's get something to eat before all the good stuff's gone," Blaine said, pulling at Kurt's hand.  "Talk to you guys later."

 


	37. Dinner Meeting

Kurt pushed his plate away after a few bites, but Blaine ate hungrily.  Kurt crossed one leg over the other, leaning back and watching.

Blaine swallowed a mouthful of rice pudding.  "Sorry," he said.  "Just missed the home cooking."

Kurt wasn't sure the dining hall fare was that much better than hospital food.  But he didn't belabor it.  He knew Dalton was home, and the meals served in this dining hall were home cooking, to Blaine.   Curious, he did pursue one thing he had wondered about.  "Your mother... what kind of food did she make for you?"

"Hm."  Blaine studied the small bowl of pudding a moment.  "You know, I don't remember there being a lot of food there, to be honest.  I used to get the free breakfast and lunch at school, but I don't think we ate much at home."  He scraped the sides of the pudding bowl, and Kurt's heart clenched. 

"Here.  You can have mine.  I'm not hungry."

Blaine blushed, looking awkwardly down at his bowl. "No thanks.  I'm good.  That's a bad habit I need to drop.  Mil - -" he stopped, then set his spoon down and picked up his napkin.  "Never mind."

"So.  Speaking of you-know-who.  You said something about a plan to get rid of him, once and for all.  Care to elaborate?"

"Mostly that was just big talk," Blaine admitted.  "I still have to come up with that cunning plan."

Kurt nodded.  "Well.  We can brainstorm, if you want."

"I have to admit, I don't know how to start.  If I could just get something to hold over his head, even, to leave me alone until I graduate.  Then I could turn him in and not worry about the other guys thinking.  Well.  Knowing the truth."

"Interesting.  Well, what about those texts he sent you?"

Blaine picked up Kurt's pudding after all, and started in on it.  "Deleted.  Besides, it was one of his burner phones.  I can't prove he sent them.  He's too smart for that."

"He's getting reckless, though.  Maybe he'll slip up and finally say or do something in front of other people."

Turning the half-empty bowl in his hands, Blaine looked troubled.  "But ... then everyone would know about me."

"So.  We have to find some evidence so damaging that he  _has_ to lay off," Kurt mused.  "Is there anything you can think of?  A place he took you where we could get a witness, or - -"

"Pictures," Blaine said suddenly.  At Kurt's questioning look, he elaborated.  "He likes taking pictures of me.  You know.   _Pictures_."

Kurt felt sick.

"He always has.  He has a digital camera that he takes the pictures on.  If we could find it, then - -"

"But isn't that the same problem as the texts?  How can we prove he  _took_ them?" 

Blaine looked around cautiously, then avoided Kurt's eyes as he answered.  "He likes to take pictures ...  _during,"_ he said, looking up under raised eyebrows.  "Kurt, no, don't cry, please - - not here - -"

Kurt choked back the tears, looking steadily at the wall beside them.  "That ... that ... sick piece of ..."

"I know," Blaine said sorrowfully.  "I hate it, but the more I hate it, the more he  _likes_ it.  But if I could get the camera and take it, then hide it someplace safe, he'd know I have him on the ropes."

"Where do you think it is?" Kurt asked.  "His house?"

"No," Blaine shook his head.  "No.  I don't think so.  He has a locked briefcase he keeps it in, but I think he keeps that at his office when he's not at the house.  He always takes it with him if we leave his house at the same time.  And I know he spends a lot of time at his office, even after office hours."

Kurt had a mental image of Miles pulling up those images and looking at them alone in his office.  "So ... we have to get into his office and steal that briefcase, then."

"Oh, that's all?" Blaine said, discouragement in his tone.  "Kurt, I may have been born poor and I may have had to do some sketchy stuff to survive," he whispered, low.  "But I don't know how to pick a locked door, or a locked briefcase."

The dining hall was emptying out, and Kurt waved at the council and Oliver as they left their table.  "I think I may have someone who can help us with that," he said, finally.  "Let me make a call."

 


	38. Breaking and Entering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some upsetting revelations in this chapter. Still not explicit, but just a warning that some information about Miles in this chapter is not pleasant.

"I still can't believe I let you two twinks talk me into this," Santana grumbled, removing a hairpin.  "Which door?" 

"Sshh," Kurt said, shaking with nerves.  "There's a night watchman."

"Downstairs, asleep, Princess.  We're fine."

Blaine pointed to the office at the end of the hallway.  "That's the one."

Santana sashayed down the hallway, hips swinging.  She stopped in front of the door, reading, "Dr. Miles Stevens.  Head of Music Department.  Interesting."

"Just pick the lock!" Kurt gasped.  "We have to get out of here as soon as possible!"

"Hold your pretty ponies, Lady Hummel.  I gots to get my cat burglar gloves on."  Santana took a pair of elbow-length black silk gloves from her slouch purse, and drew them on, holding the hairpin in her teeth.  "And you can't blame me for being curious whose office you've roped me into breaking and entering."

"Whatever!  Just hurry up!"

Santana bent over the doorknob, maneuvering the hairpin in the lock.  

Kurt wrung his hands, jumping up and down in place frantically.  "Santana!  Why is it taking so long?  I thought you knew how to do this!  Oh my God- -"

"Be quiet!  I need to hear the tumblers!"  Santana wiggled the pin a final time, then looked over her shoulder.  "Got it."  She turned the knob and shoved the door open.  "After you, ladies."

Blaine hesitated.  "I - I'm - not sure - -"

Taking Blaine's hand, Kurt drew a deep breath.  "Blaine.  If you've changed your mind, I - I'll respect your decision.  But we have to either go in there and do this, or get out of here.  We have no way of knowing when that watchman might decide to come up here."

Their eyes met, and Blaine squared his shoulders. "Let's go."

The two of them turned on their flashlights and slowly went into Miles' office.  Santana followed, perching on the desk, her long legs crossed.  "So.  What happened?  One of you dorks got a B on an exam and we're here to hack into your teacher's grading program?"

Blaine looked pleadingly at Kurt, who bit his lip and turned to Santana.  "The thing is, Santana ... this is a matter of some ... delicacy.  Could ... you sort of ... wait outside?  We can take it from here."

"There's the briefcase," Blaine said suddenly, pointing his flashlight into the corner by a coat rack.  

He rushed over and reached for it, but stopped when Santana hissed, "Gloves!  Where are your gloves!"

"I - don't think I brought any," Blaine admitted, a tremble in his voice.  "I don't know if I can do this, Kurt.  He'll.  Kill me if he finds out I was in here."

"This is some mean-ass teacher, I take it.  I can relate," Santana said, brushing past him.  "You should ask Kurt sometime about my cheerleading coach."  She turned the briefcase on its side.  "Locked.  So you losers still need me."  She turned her attention to the lock on the case, and in short order, it sprang open.  Kurt trained his flashlight on the interior.

"Empty," Blaine said.  He sounded ... almost relieved.  "Well.  I guess that's it, a wild goose chase.  We'd better go."

"Blaine.  He might have taken it out of there to ... look at it."

"We don't have time to search this whole office, Kurt.  We'd better just forget it.  That camera could be anywhere in here."

"We came this far, we should at least look around.  Blaine, this is important, you know that - -"

A sound of a drawer opening behind them interrupted their whispered discussion.  "Auntie Tana to the rescue."  She gestured at the desk, replacing her hairpin in her long ponytail and putting her hands on her hips.  "The drawer was locked.  But ... I imagine this is what you're looking for?"  She brandished a digital camera.  "This thing looks about a hundred years old," she remarked.  "Is it yours?  What happened?  I bet I know.  The mean ol' teacher took it off one of you in class, and the two of you had all your secret love photos on here?  Wanky."

Blaine approached, hands shaking, and took the camera from her without a word.  He slumped as he looked at it, turning it over.  "Oh.  The SD card is gone."  He glanced up.  "I guess that's it.  He could hide an SD card anyplace.  So ... better just put this back and - -"

"There's a lot of SD cards in here," Santana said.  She pulled the drawer out all the way, sending it rattling.  "Which one's yours?"

Kurt shone his light in the drawer, blanching at the sight of at least twenty SD cards, each one neatly labeled with a label maker tape.  "They're ... coded somehow," he said.  "There's two letters on all of them, and a number."

Santana looked up.  "Wait.  I think I hear something.  Let me go check it."  She quickly ran to the door, and then out into the hall.

Blaine grabbed one of the SD cards at random and shoved it in the camera, turning it on and flipping it so he could see the screen.  His face was lit up by the light from the LED display, as the first picture loaded, and he cried out as if bitten by a snake.  "It's not me," he sobbed.  "It's not me!"  He dropped the camera on the desk, covering his mouth and retching violently. 

Kurt took the camera without looking at the display, turning it off and ejecting the SD card.  "JB - 1988", he read out loud.  He trained his flashlight into the drawer, and spotted some with "BA" and more recent years on them, among the pile of cards, all with initials and the year.  "So many," Kurt whispered.  "So many." He backed away from the drawer, shaking his head in disbelief.  

He snapped out of his shock, at the sound of Blaine's crying.  Blaine was hunched over the wastepaper basket by the door, clutching his mouth and trembling.  "He - - he was so young," Blaine sobbed.  "The boy in the pictures.  He ... couldn't be more than 15, Kurt.  It's so sick.  It's ... "

"I know," Kurt said, rubbing Blaine's back.  And not pointing out that Blaine was even younger when it started with him. Not now.  They had to do what they came here for, and Blaine was falling apart.

Santana ran into the room, hissing from the doorway, "Guys - we have to go.  Someone's coming!"

Kurt grabbed Blaine by the arm, hauling him to his feet.  "We have to take the ones with your initials," he said firmly, but Blaine looked at him blankly, as if in shock, so Kurt went back to the desk and took all the cards labeled "BA" that he could find, replacing the camera, and shutting the drawer.  He started toward the door, a dazed Blaine still in tow.

"Not that way!" Santana whispered hoarsely.  "C'mere!"  She had opened the window, and was straddling the windowsill in her black reconnaissance tube dress.

"It's the second floor!" Kurt protested.  "What the hell are you trying to do!"  But the lights were going on in the hallway.

"These walls are ivy-covered," Santana said.  "We can climb down this trellis thing."  She disappeared over the sill, and Kurt helped Blaine over to the window, and leaned out.  Santana was at the bottom of the building already.  Blaine's face was frozen in shock, but he obediently went out the window and climbed down.  Kurt looked back a final time, and saw that the guard's shadow was framed in the frosted glass.  He quickly clambered out and down the trellis, just as the lights were going on in the office ... and the three of them ran off into the night, as the guard called after them.


	39. Kurt's Plan

After thanking Santana without answering any of her questions about what the heck that was all about, they headed back to the dorms.  Blaine had left his window ajar, and after they climbed through and shut the window, Kurt flopped down on his back on the extra bed, mentally and physically drained.

"I don't know how burglars do it.  I just aged 10 years."

Blaine nodded, taking his jacket and hanging it on a hook on the back of the door.  "Do you have those cards?"

Kurt sat up, and fished the cards out.  One for each year since Blaine was 14.  "Should we burn them?" he asked.  "That'd be the best way to get rid of them for good."

"But - - I thought - -" Blaine squinted at him, confused.  "Aren't we going to use them as evidence?"

"No, no," Kurt said.  "I have a better plan.  We get rid of these, and then go down to the payphone outside the common room."

"Pay phone?  Does that thing even work?"

Kurt nodded.  "I checked it when I first moved in here out of curiosity.  I guess it's still in order for any kids who don't have cellphones.  Anyway, we can make a call from there, anonymously, tonight, tipping the police off about Miles' little stash in his office.  It has to be tonight, because we don't know if that guard is going to tip off the administration that someone was in his office tonight.  Then the police find out what he did to those other boys, he gets prosecuted, bada-bing, you're in the clear and no one has to know about you and him."

There was a moment of silence, before Kurt jumped up again. "C'mon.  We can make the phone call first.  Luckily we're already on the first floor, and nobody will see us - -"

"No."

Kurt stopped with his hand on the dorm room door.  "Excuse me?"

"Kurt, we can't call the police."

"I - I can't believe what I'm hearing," Kurt said, putting his hand on his hip.  "This is the perfect plan to punish that ... that predator for his crimes, and leave your name out of it entirely!"

"But that's not fair to those other guys.  The ones on the cards," Blaine said quietly.  He reached out and took the SD cards from Kurt's hand and looked down at them, shuffling them nervously in his hand.  

Kurt tried to reason with him.  "They'll get justice, if we call the police --"

Blaine shook his head. "No.  We can't make that decision for them.  We can't out them like that, especially when I'm not willing to take the heat myself."

"Well, if they'd done the right thing and gone to the police, any of them, then maybe you wouldn't be in this position, because Miles would already be in jail," Kurt flared.  "So pardon me if I don't have a lot of sympathy for them about that.  They're all grown up now, you're the kid, you're his victim  _right now_.  This is the only way- -"

"I'm asking you.  Please don't do that.  I can't live with myself if we do that to people who - - were already hurt enough and have put this behind them."  When Kurt groaned in frustration, Blaine tugged on Kurt's sleeve, pleading.  "Kurt.  They're out of this.  Let them stay out of it.  I need to figure my own way out of this mess, not drag other people into it who ... made a decision they had every right to.  They were victims too.  This isn't their fault and I won't punish them.  There's another option.  There has to be."

Kurt looked into Blaine's weary eyes.  "Blaine.  What is the other option. How do we end this, how do we make him pay?"


	40. Blaine's Plan

 

"I have to think it over," Blaine said.  "But I think ... I have to turn him in."  He laid the SD cards in a line on his desk and surveyed them grimly.

"But ... I thought ..."

Blaine's eyes were wet, and he drew a hand over them.  "I thought I was ... the only one.  But it's obvious. Once things are over for good with me, he'll just do what he's been doing for years - and get a new victim.  I can't let that happen.  Like you just said, it would be my fault if I stood by and - -"

"I shouldn't have said that," Kurt interrupted.  "You're right - as a victim, you have a right to decide what's best for you."

"You were right the first time," Blaine said, sitting down at the desk.  "I have a responsibility to stop him, now that I know he's a repeat offender."  

"It's so unfair," Kurt whispered.  

Blaine shrugged.  "I'd like to finish out the semester ... go to the formal with you," he smiled weakly at Kurt.  "But then, I'm going to the police at the beginning of winter break.  I have to, now that I have proof.  It was different when I didn't have anything but my word against his."

Kurt blinked. "I think that's ... very brave of you. And ... if you do it over break, maybe word won't get out?"

Sighing, Blaine shook his head. "I have to be prepared that it will.  These things tend to.  If that happens, things might not be too nice for me here afterwards.  Or for you, if you're my boyfriend.  I'll understand if you don't want to deal with that fallout."

"I'll stand by you even if everyone in this school turns against you!" Kurt said indignantly.  "Which they won't.  The police will protect you - you're under age.  They won't release your name.  They'll just arrest Miles."

"I hope you're right," Blaine said. "In the meantime, I need to find somewhere to hide these cards.  Any ideas?"

"Maybe we should get a safe deposit box at the bank.  That way they're totally secure," Kurt suggested. "My dad has one for his papers.  It's like $20 a year."

"I guess I should go to the bank tomorrow and get one," Blaine decided.  "II hate to cut class, but I'd probably better do it first thing.  And then . . . I'll deal with Miles."

 


	41. Errand

After checking the bus schedule, Blaine realized he'd have to get up pretty early to make it to the bank before it opened at 8:30 a.m.  Dalton was on the outskirts of Westerville, and the local bus line only stopped outside its gates once every hour.  He'd have to catch the 6:45 a.m. bus - - well before sunrise.  He took care to have all his clothes ready, hanging on the back of his door, and set his alarm in plenty of time.  He'd miss breakfast and some classes, but he couldn't risk anything happening to the only hard evidence he had against Miles.  

He woke up in the early morning, as planned, and for a moment almost rethought the whole plan.  Maybe the SD cards would be safe enough hidden in his room, at least as long as the administration hadn't found him a roommate.  Susan had, true to her word, called the school psychologist and made that recommendation, much to his chagrin.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he recalled, though, that Miles had a son living in the dorm - on the third floor, reserved for freshmen.  Wes lived here.  It wouldn't be all that hard for Miles to get into the dorm if he wanted to, and his room was isolated.  Even though he didn't intend to let Miles in the dorm again, or in his room, he couldn't be here all the time to make sure Miles didn't find a way to get in and search the room.  And when he went to look at those pictures again, surely he'd suspect who took only the cards with his pictures on them.  

No; best to stick to the plan.  He got up and padded down the hallway for his shower, then went back to his room to get dressed.  He pulled the curtain back, but it was still pitch-black outside.  He let the curtain drop back down.  The door alarms went off automatically at 6:30, so he'd have just enough time to walk to the bus stop if he hurried.  He waited nervously until 6:29, then went to the back door to the dorm, waiting for the little light to turn from red to green over the alarm.  When it did, he pushed the door open and headed out into the brisk cold air, lighting his own way with a small Dalton flashlight.  The path was hard to see even with the light bouncing off the snowbanks on either side, and he hurried ahead without looking to the right or left, intent on catching the bus.  

He shuddered as he passed Miles' house, but braced himself.  Soon he wouldn't need to worry about him anymore.  

But as he rounded the bend out of sight of the house, he stopped at a strange sound.  Crunching snow underfoot, but  - - where was it coming from?  He flashed the light on the path behind him, and called out.  "Is - somebody there?"  The sound of wind whistling through the trees was the only answer.  He shuddered again, and started to turn around - - to come face-to-face with Miles, panting and out of breath, and holding a glinting piece of metal in his hand.

"Miles?  What - what are you doing over here?" Blaine faltered.  His eyes fell on the metal instrument.  A gun.  One he'd seen many times in Miles' house, and Miles' finger was over the trigger, even if the muzzle was pointed at the ground.

"I was waiting outside your dorm room for you to wake up, but you got an early start, didn't you?  Where are you headed?  The police?"

Blaine swallowed hard.  "I - don't know what you're talking about, I - just wanted to go into Lima to ... pick up my last check from the Lima Bean."

"You're cutting school for that?" Miles said.  "Shame on you, Blaine.  I raised you better than that."

Blaine felt nausea rising in his throat, and he shrugged. "I wanted to cash it, so I can buy the tickets for me and Kurt for the Winter Formal," he said, defiantly.  

Miles stared him down, until Blaine had to look away.

"Bull."

Shrugging, Blaine looked back up.  "Okay, Miles, I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't have time to talk."

"No, you don't.  That bus only runs every hour, I understand.  But I have some other business with you.  Specifically.  You took something of mine last night, and I want it back," he said, cocking the gun and pointing it ... directly at Blaine's face.


	42. The Gatehouse

"Step off the path," Miles ordered, waving the gun slightly.  "Now."

"You - you can't be serious about this, Miles," Blaine said, fighting to keep his voice steady.  "C'mon.  It's me, Blaine.  You - you'd never shoot me.  Quit - quit goofing around and let me catch my bus, okay?"

"Someone broke into my office last night.  I got a call from the night watchman - whoever it was, opened my briefcase, jimmied the lock on my desk and then shut it without re-locking it, and left the window open."  Miles grabbed his arm and manhandled him off the path into the snow among the trees.  "I went down there in the middle of the night, and guess what?  Nothing was missing, nothing else out of place - - except my pictures of you.  All of them.  Hand them over."

"I - don't know what you're talking about.  I've been in my room all night.  Maybe you - just misplaced whatever you're looking for."

The sun was starting to come up, rendering the barren woods pearly gray.  It wouldn't be long before teachers and students started waking up, the early morning runners and those with errands to run like himself, would be coming by.  He just had to stall long enough.  

"Walk.  To the gatehouse," Miles said, brandishing the gun again.  

Not the gatehouse.  Not someplace that isolated and hidden from view.  

"I don't have whatever you're looking for!"

"I said walk.  And don't think I won't shoot you here, search your body, and then go back to that dorm and search there too.  I'm sure you told your little friend Kurt you'd be on this errand today, so nobody will miss you until your body is frozen out here.  By then, I'll have found what I'm looking for."

Blaine stared, unable to speak or even form thoughts in his head.  Finally the words came.

"You - you say you love me, but - - you'd kill me?  For some pictures?"

"Not for some pictures.  In self-defense."  Miles' face was taut.  "I don't want to do this, Blaine.  I don't, God knows, but you're forcing me to defend myself.  Those pictures - if I let you take those to the police, it means my life - it's over.  Prison.  And what happens in jail, to a guy like me, convicted of - of -"  He stopped, raising his voice. "You're basically trying to end my life, give me a death sentence.  If I have to kill you to stop you from doing that, I - I have to."  His eyes grew wild.  "I said walk!"

Blaine turned around and walked through the woods, sensing this man behind him and fully aware that he was capable of killing him to protect himself.  He thought about Kurt, about his friends.  All the reasons he had to want to live, all the things he wanted to do.  When he reached the gatehouse, finally, he stood there waiting, and Miles barked, "Open the door and go in."

As Blaine lifted his hand to open the latch, he learned that it's not just drowning men who see their life flash before their eyes. He thought of Mom, of the men who came and went in their house.  Of the foster homes and group homes.  The men he'd had to screw to have money for food.  Sleeping on the street.  Begging for spare change.  Finding Miles, and thinking he'd found his ticket to paradise.  How hard he'd had to fight to get here.  

He walked through the door.  The important thing, the only thing, was to stay alive.  He'd fought too hard to give up now.

Turning around, he met Miles' eyes.  

"What now?"

"You turn out your pockets," Miles said, pointing the gun again, and keeping his distance.

Blaine obliged, turning out his outer coat pockets, and dropping the contents - the flashlight, his room key, his wallet.  His phone and old pocket watch.

"Take your coat off and throw it to me," Miles demanded.  

The coat slipped off, and Blaine tossed it across the wooden floor to Miles, who rifled through the inner pockets.  

"Your tie.  Give me your tie," he demanded, throwing the coat down.  "You're really going to make me do this?  Really, Blaine?"  

Blaine unbuttoned his Oxford and undid his tie, sliding it off and tossing it to Miles, who caught it with one hand.

"Get over by the radiator.  Now."

Blaine looked where Miles was pointing.  The gatehouse had once been home to the groundskeeper at Dalton Manor, before it had been converted to a school.  There was an old, defunct radiator attached to the wall.  He approached it, and Miles rushed him from behind, shoving him to his knees.  

"Put your hands behind your back, wrists together."  

"You - you're tying me up?  Miles - please stop this, please, you --"

Miles kicked him in the back, full strength, and Blaine felt the wind knocked from him.  He put his hands behind his back, and Miles wound the tie around his wrists. "Turn around, so I can tie this to the radiator."

Blaine had no choice.  No one would hear him screaming all the way out here.  He turned around, and Miles looped the tie around the pipe attaching the radiator to the wall, then tied it off tightly.  

Miles set the gun out of reach, then started searching him - inside the outer pockets of the blazer, then inside pockets.  Nothing.  Grabbing Blaine by the collar, he straightened him up on his knees, and started searching the pants pockets.  Blaine shuddered at the feeling of Miles' hands in his back pockets, dipping into the front pockets.  Nothing. 

"I told you," Blaine said, shakily.  "I don't have the pictures here.  You - you're right, I did steal them.  And I made copies," he lied.  "I uploaded them to the cloud.  They'll find them if you kill me, and then you'll be connected to my murder, and all those rapes, and you will  _never_ get out of prison."  

He felt the sharp sting of a slap across his face.  "You stupid, stupid brat," Miles snarled.  "You tell me where those pictures are, or I swear - -" he stopped, and turned to look at the wallet on the floor by the coat.  Blaine's heart sank, as Miles got up and went over to pick it up.  

As he opened the wallet and retrieved the cards, counting them, he remarked, "I guess this leaves the question of the copies.  We'll have to get rid of those too."  He picked up Blaine's phone.  "Tell me how to get them off the cloud." When Blaine didn't answer he slapped him full across the face.

Blaine slumped in despair.  He could tell Miles that Kurt knew all about everything, and would tell if anything happened, and Blaine went missing or died.  But.  He couldn't.  He couldn't drag Kurt into this - it might put him in danger too.

"Just.  Let me go," he pleaded.  "Please, Miles.  Please, I'm begging you, if you ever cared about me - -"

Miles ignored him and pressed the on-button on the phone, and looked at it a moment.  "God.  Damn.  It," he said.  "No reception out here."  He swung around, picking up the gun and holding it to Blaine's temple.  "I should just kill you to keep you quiet," he said.  "They may not find the pictures - - or I could take this phone and erase the pictures when I get back to the house -"

"I lied!" Blaine cried out.  "I lied!  I didn't have time to copy the pictures - I couldn't look at them - those are the only copy!"

The gun stayed pressed to his head for almost a full minute, before Miles withdrew it.  "You're ... telling the truth," he said, looking keenly at Blaine.  

"Yes," he said, desperately.  "Yes, Miles, it's true."

"So we go back to square one," Miles said, backing up.  He took Blaine's phone and pocketed it.  "You don't need this anymore.  You've been a bad boy and I'm confiscating your phone.  In a few days, we can talk about reinstituting your privileges, if you apologize for your behavior sincerely."

Blaine sat down on the floor, nodding in defeat, but struggling at his bonds silently.  

"I think you'll figure out how to untie yourself eventually.  Why don't you sit out here for a while and think about what you've done."  Miles pointed the gun a final time, and Blaine flinched, drawing a laugh from Miles.  "See you soon."


	43. Texting

Kurt fidgeted in math class, looking up at the clock.   He wished there was some way to resolve this mess Blaine was in, that would lend some finality to everything.  And that wouldn't require so much sacrifice on Blaine's part.  He balanced his phone casually on his leg under the desk, checking his messages.  Nothing yet.  While pretending to take notes with his right hand, he laboriously tapped out a text with his left.

**so hows it going**

**did u get everything taken care of**

He glanced up and smiled politely at the teacher, who was giving him a suspicious look while pointing at the whiteboard.  The phone vibrated under his hand and he glanced down

**No.  I changed my mind about it.**

Kurt frowned, and checked the front of the room, then tapped away again.

**i thought u agreed u needed 2 get that evidence 2 safe place 4 when u need it why change mind**

There was a brief pause

**Well, Kurt, it's my decision.  Mind** **your own business, okay?**

Kurt felt stung.  He knew Blaine was going through a lot, but this was really.  A bit much.  He was just trying to help.

**ok fine have it ur way keep letting him get away with it B its ur life**

He felt tears pricking at his eyes as the bell rang, and he shoved the phone in his pocket as he got ready to leave the classroom.   He felt it vibrate again, and took it out to look at it a final time.

**You will never understand this, because you're just a kid, Kurt.  He's the love of my life and I made a mistake getting involved with you.  Just leave me alone from now on.**

Kurt stopped short, reading it again, then a third time to be sure.  

He quickly ducked into a bathroom, locked the door, and slid down to sit with his back against it, shaking with suppressed sobs.


	44. Free?

It took a long time, shivering in the cold gatehouse without his coat and fumbling to tr and untie himself, but Blaine finally managed it.  He didn't get up right away.  His legs felt shaky, from hunger and the cold, and from being crouched in an awkward position that long.  And from the terrible fright he'd gotten.  What a close call he had.

He rubbed his wrists, bruised from the tight bonds and his struggle against them.  What was he going to do now?  That was his last shot to get any kind of proof he could take to the police.  Miles knew not to trust him now, and would be even more careful than ever.  And more dangerous.  

Finally he was able to stand and look at his pocket watch.  First period was over now, and he was ten minutes from his next class, without even going back and getting his messenger bag.  He might as well bag second period.  Starting slowly, he shuffled over and picked up his door key, his wallet, his flashlight.  Putting his arms into the coat, he thought,  _how am I going to tell Kurt about this?_  Kurt was so protective, so angry at Miles already.   If he knew Miles had put a gun to his head, literally.  What would he say?  Would he agree to keep quiet about this?

Blaine didn't want to go to the police with this, not without some kind of proof.  It would only make things worse, he was sure.  Kurt could back him up, he supposed, but then again.  Kurt hadn't even seen any of the pictures.  And if he involved Kurt to that degree, then he would be a target too.  

Maybe it would be best just to go back to the dorm, try to collect his shattered nerves, and forget this ever happened.  Just keep pretending everything's normal.

_Pretending.  That's what I'm best at._


	45. Reconnection

Kurt was ashamed to be grateful that he didn't run into Blaine the rest of the day, at lunch or dinner, or in classes.  He assumed Blaine was avoiding him now.  That he must have meant those terrible things he texted.  But at least this way, they didn't have to face one another.  Maybe that was for the best.

But when he got back to the dorm and walked through to the spiral staircase that led up to his floor, he winced ...  Blaine was on the pay phone in the lobby for some reason, about to call somebody.  Kurt sneaked by, trying to avoid being seen, but as he rounded a curve in the staircase, he saw Blaine staring after him, his eyes wide and confused.

He dragged himself back to his dorm room, then took the world's most morose shower.

When Kurt returned to his room, his roommate looked up from his Organic Chemistry textbook and remarked, "You look like day-old crap, hon."

"Thanks, Trent."  He dropped his caddy on the floor of his closet.  

"Oh, Blaine came by looking for you while you were in the shower," Trent said.  "He looked even worse than you.  And he seemed upset.  Asked me to tell you he stopped by and wanted to talk about something.  You guys having a fight?"

Kurt sat down and began buffing his nails, lifting his eyes to give Trent a withering glance meant to forestall any further questions.  Trent shrugged and turned his gaze back to his book.  "Whatever. I'm here to talk when you need to."

He picked up his phone from the re-charger and checked it.    No more texts from Blaine.  He scrolled back in the conversation.  He'd never deleted a text from Blaine, not all the way back to "COURAGE."  Even now, he couldn't bear to get rid of them.   He had no idea why Blaine had come up to the room, and then not even waited for him to come out of the shower.  He supposed it had something to do with keeping him quiet about Miles - not a conversation he could have in front of Trent.

He noted there were three recent calls, all from the same unfamiliar number, and three messages.  He sighed and opened the first one, pressing the phone to his ear to listen.

_"I.  I thought you might stop by my room when I wasn't in class, but you didn't.  I thought you must have been busy.  But I went to call you from the payphone and - - I saw you on the stairs and ... I saw you avoiding me.  You looked angry.  I went to your room and Trent said you were in the shower. Please, Kurt... can you come see me when you get in, before they lock the doors, please?  I ... need to talk.  Everything went wrong this morning.  I didn't want to have to tell you this.  But. ... I ... ran into Miles and ... something happened and I need to talk about it.  Please come down."_

Kurt's heart was pounding.  What did that mean?  Did he want to break up officially in person?  Beg him not to tell?  Well he wasn't going to rush down there for that.  He went to the next message.

 _"Please come down, Kurt, or pick up.   Please.  Miles took my phone, so don't call me on that number."_  There was a long pause as Blaine waited.   _"Okay, I guess you're not picking up right now.  Kurt.  I love you._ _Please come see me."_

Kurt got up, still in his robe and flip-flops, and headed for the door.  Trent looked up.  "Kurt!   Are you okay?"

"Cover for me at bed check?" 

Trent leaned forward. "No problem... have fun!" 

Running for the stairwell, Kurt listened to the last, lengthy message.  Blaine was crying in it, that something bad had happened on the way to the bank.  That Miles made him give back his phone, that something so bad had happened that he wanted a drink, needed it, but he didn't want to fall off the wagon.  He knew he did something wrong if Kurt was angry.  That he was sorry, but he didn't know who else to talk to, that Susan's office was closed and he didn't have his new therapist's number yet, and to please come down and whatever he did wrong, he was sorry, and he would do anything if Kurt would forgive him.

Running down the hallway, he lost a flip-flop on the stairwell and kept going, running to Blaine's door.   In the back of his mind, a connection was being made. Those texts.  They weren't from Blaine ... they were from Miles.  Miles knew they were on to him.  That they had evidence against him.  What had happened?  What had Miles done to Blaine?

He reached Blaine's door and pounded on it.  It swung open to reveal Blaine, his eyes red-rimmed and wet, and without further words, they were in each other's arms.


	46. Chatting

"I can't believe he sent texts to me pretending to be you.  The guy is ... so sick," Kurt said.  He shifted slightly, cuddling Blaine closer on the twin bed.  Luckily neither of them were big guys.  He doubted Finn would fit on this bed even by himself, let alone with somebody else.  It was nice to be so close again, being Blaine's big spoon.

"And he has my phone and obviously figured out my password.  Which means he's going through all our text messages, and my pictures, and all my personal stuff," Blaine said, miserably, resting his head on Kurt's chest.  "And he must know you know everything.  That's the worst of all.  I never wanted to put you in danger."

"It's you I'm more worried about.  You're always alone down here after lights out.  And not just what Miles might do."  He stroked Blaine's chin and turned it up to look into his eyes.  "I think it's too soon for you to be all by yourself ... after detox.  It scared me when you said you wanted a drink.  You worked so hard - one drink might undo all that effort."

"I don't want that either.  Today was ... just so bad," Blaine said.  "I knew I needed to do something to distract myself, so I wouldn't drink.  That must be a good sign, right?"

"So I'm just a distraction?"

Blaine turned to lie facing him.  He was wearing just a tee shirt and a pair of boxer briefs, and Kurt was in just a thin robe with nothing under it.  "You're the best kind of distraction," Blaine said huskily.  "And a lot more than that."

Kurt moved a little, so their foreheads touched and they could look into each other's eyes.  "But what about your roommate situation?  What if I asked to be your new roommate?"

"I'd love that, but ... no.  I don't think your Dad would approve.  He didn't want us to sleep in the same room at your house.  And I don't want to put a foot wrong with him if I can help it.  I'm sure I'm already on thin ice at best, after that display I put on in Finn's room."

"He understands that addiction is a disease and - -"

Blaine shook his head.  "He may understand that. But I'm sure that when he visualizes who he wants for a boyfriend for you, it's not an alcoholic.  And he still hasn't found out the rest of my life story as a teenage hustler."

"Don't call yourself that!"

Blaine looked steadily at him.  "I won't call myself that if you don't like me to.  But it doesn't change that it's what I am."

Kurt met Blaine's gaze as steadily.  "It isn't what you are.  It's ... what happened to you when you were too young and vulnerable to help it.  What you are, is ... strong.  Kind.  Gentle.  Brave.  Smart," he said, ticking off with light kisses.  

"Those are things you are," Blaine interrupted.  "And I want to be just like you."

 


	47. Backup

Blaine needed a few days to recover his nerves before he could so much as leave his room.  Then, to his surprise, over the several days after that, Blaine found he was getting a breather from Miles and his harassment.  

By taking the phone away, Miles had cut off the main line of communication between them.  And, as a bonus, Miles was taking pains not to approach him in other, more direct ways, like tapping on the dorm room window or keeping him after class on a pretext, as he often had in the past.  Miles was playing it safe for a while, laying low.  Now, if they had to be in the same place for class or Warbler practice, Miles looked right through him, like any other student.  

It was a relief, and gave him a chance to recover somewhat.  He even convinced himself that perhaps, Miles had been bluffing and wouldn't really have shot him.  Maybe he wasn't in danger anymore, and the nightmare could just be over for him.  And maybe Miles had just realized that there was no point in trying to force a relationship with him anymore and would just ... leave him alone from now on.  

Even if a voice in the back of his head kept whispering that perhaps, that meant that Miles would move on and pick another boy to exploit.  And ... would it be his fault if he didn't find a way to stop Miles?

His conscience was bothering him about that, but he wasn't sure, especially now that Miles no longer trusted him, what to do about it.  He couldn't risk trying to uncover any more evidence from Miles.  He confided the problem to Kurt, who promised to think about another way.

After his last class, Blaine packed up his bag and headed out to the hall, happy to see Kurt hurrying toward him with a wave.  

"Hey, cutie," he said, beaming and reaching out a hand to take Blaine's.  "Hey.  I had an idea.  How about going to the Warbler's library with me?"

"Study date?  On a Friday night?" Blaine laughed. "Wild stuff."

"I know, right?" Kurt said.  But he seemed excited, walking quickly and swinging their hands between them.  

"What's gotten into you?" Blaine asked, as they opened the door to the Warblers' library behind the common room.  Kurt poked his head in and looked around, then pulled Blaine in and shut the door behind him.

"Rowr," Blaine said.  "So forceful.  Are you going to have your way with me in here?"

"No," Kurt said.  "Blaine, this is about something important.  Now that we're alone, I ... had an idea."

He dropped Blaine's hand and went to the shelves with the Dalton yearbooks on them.  "You saw the pictures on one of those other thumb drives, right?"

Blaine's face fell.  He didn't want to think about that boy, his young, tense face staring up from the camera screen.  But that was a lifetime ago, and hopefully that boy was okay now, someplace.  "Yeah ... but why?"

"The initials.  JB, they were on the drive you looked at.  Let's look at that one first," Kurt said, looking through the old yearbooks, and taking down 1988.  He gestured to one of the tables, and Blaine sat down. "I put a post-it on to mark the place to show you."  Kurt opened the book to the Freshman section. 

Blaine looked down at the page, full of clean-cut, preppy boys.  Their hair was slicked back and kept short or buzzed, just as Dalton boys wore it now, probably always had, always would.  

"I had a hunch," Kurt said.  He tapped on the page.  "Jason Baker.  It says on the awards page that he's a scholarship student - the Nathaniel Dalton Memorial Music Scholarship recipient.  Just like you.  And the only boy that year who had those initials.  Does he look familiar to you?"

Jason's anxious eyes looked up from the page, and, it felt as if they stared into Blaine's soul, acknowledging a shared secret shame.  The same eyes from the camera screen.  

Blaine couldn't speak.  He just nodded.  Kurt pressed a hand to his arm.  

"I saw some of the other initials and years.  LZ 2000, and MO 2004, to be exact.  Sit here."

Kurt hopped up and retrieved down the 2000 and 2004 books, and flipped them open to marked pages.

"Yep.  Here," Kurt said, angling the book toward him.  "Only one LZ in this book.  Laurence Zeigler.  He also had that scholarship."  He flipped open the 2004 edition.  "And Mike O'Leary.  Not the only MO, but he was the scholarship student that year."

"I ... we didn't see those cards," Blaine said hoarsely.  "There's no way to know for sure they ... that ..." he stopped and put his head in his hands.  "That scholarship ... he's been using it for ... for years, hasn't he?"

Kurt nodded.  "It looks like that.  I don't know if all the boys who won the scholarship were his victims, but ... I wouldn't be surprised.  It's his personal bait to get boys here and under his control.  What's kind of odd," he mused, pulling a page of notes from his pocket, "is that you're the only student who's gotten the scholarship three years running.  Before you, the scholarship wasn't awarded every year.  It was every few years - and before you, only to freshmen, no upperclassmen or sophomores, and only for one year to each student."

"He likes them young," Blaine said.  He felt so tired, so ... stupid.  He actually thought he was special to Miles, but it was just a routine he had pulled on so many boys over the years.  

"The point is.  If we track these guys down, maybe we can talk them into backing you up, and turning Miles in. I know you didn't want to go to the police without proof, and you didn't want to turn the other kids in without telling them.  This might solve both problems.  I checked - there's no statute of limitations on sexual abuse of children.  The police would have to arrest him if they found out about this, no matter how long it'd been."

Blaine turned the books and looked at the boys' faces.  "I guess we could try," he said slowly.  "How do we do it?  These are common names," he pointed out, "and they could be anywhere now."

"We start with the alumni directory," Kurt said.  "Are you up for trying?"

Blaine looked up and into Kurt's eager, determined face.  "Sure," he answered.  "Let's try."


	48. JB

Blaine was bagging up the garbage to take out to the dumpster behind the Lima Bean, when Kurt breezed in with a wave. Blaine smiled tightly, but turned his face up for a kiss. "He hasn't shown up yet," he said. "My manager went home early, so at least I've got the place to myself if he does." Tying off the bag, he added, "Thanks for coming. I could use the moral support. I know it's not easy to sneak out of there after lights-out."

"Trent covered for me. It's more getting back in that worries me," Kurt said. "I seem to be doing a lot of crawling through windows since we started seeing each other. Is that decaf?" he asked.

Blaine finished pouring the soy latte. "Yep. You like it with caramel, right?"

"You know my coffee order?"

"I hope so," Blaine said, setting the drink in front of Kurt. "On the house."

"Thanks, house." Kurt sipped the sweet drink and set it on the table. "I'll help you close, though, so we have more time to talk when he gets here." He took an extra apron and tied it on. 

"If," Blaine said. "He may bail on us. I'm sure this isn't a conversation he wants to have."

They worked together well, sweeping the floor and wiping down the counters, leaving only mopping to be done. Kurt liked cleaning. It was satisfying, a job that you could see the results of right away, unlike so many other things in life. He was polishing the counters, and Blaine was wiping down the windows, when the bell above the door tinkled, and a man came in. They both stopped their tasks, and Blaine approached the man hesitantly. 

The stranger was tall. Wedding ring on his finger. Casually but neatly dressed in khakis and a button-down, like many of the Dalton boys' dads. "Are you Blaine?" he asked. At Blaine's nod, he paused, then extended his hand. "I'm Jason."

"This is my boyfriend, Kurt. Kurt, this is Jason." Kurt approached and shook the man's hand.   
"I ... can get us some coffee, and we can all talk," Blaine said. 

"No, no coffee. I don't want to be out any longer than necessary."

"I really appreciate your coming down here," Blaine said. "I wasn't sure you would, just based on an e-mail. I take it you know what I'm going to ask you about."  
He gestured toward the couch area, and sat on a loveseat. Kurt took his place beside him, and Jason sank into an armchair with a heavy sigh. "Not exactly. Why don't you tell me what you're looking for. What about Miles Stevens you want to know."

Blaine looked down at his hands. "We ... know he had a relationship with you, back in 1988. He still had pictures, as of a few weeks ago. I found them in his desk."

Jason's face twitched. "Really. After all this time."

There was a pause. 

"Well. I was wondering if you'd be willing to ... to go to the police and tell your story."

"And why would I do that?"

Kurt frowned. "Why would you turn in a pedophile, you mean? One who's working in a school with access to children?"

"Listen. I ... get what you're saying. But I can't have this come out. I can't. It's ... something I've buried years ago. I never told my parents, my wife. My kids, the guys I work with... I couldn't face people if they knew this about me."

"It wasn't your fault, you were a kid," Kurt said. 

"Please. I came down here to beg you to leave my name out of this," Jason said. There was a film of sweat forming on his upper lip. "I. You're stirring it all up again. Just let it go. It was over, and I don't want to go back into it. Please."

Blaine bit his lip in disappointment, but nodded. Jason got up. "Thank you," he said.

Kurt's mouth fell open in shock. "Wait. That's it?" he protested. "Just - leave your name out of it? Let Miles get away with what he did to you? Keep repressing this shame your whole life? How's that working out so far?" he looked pointedly at Jason's shaking hands. Jason jammed his hands in his pockets.

"That's my business."

"It's not just yours. Didn't you hear what I said? Miles is still a teacher. He's molested other kids. Blaine wants just one person, just one, to back him up, so he can put a stop to this cycle. Think about your kids - - what if someone did this to them, what if it could've been stopped?"

"Shut up," Jason whispered, closing his eyes and covering his ears with his hands. "You think I haven't thought about that? You think I wouldn't like to see Miles pay? I dream about it, every night! But - - I can't say the words! I can't! Just - - please leave me alone," he shouted, backing away and knocking a chair off the table in his hurry before stumbling out the door.


	49. Flowers

The days slipped by, until the day of Winter Formal arrived.  Blaine insisted on not seeing each other's tuxedos until the day, refusing to go shopping with Kurt for his, or to allow Kurt to come with him when he spent his Lima Bean money on a classic slim fit, single-button tux with satin lapel and pocket, and a black bow tie.  He stood proudly before the mirror in his lonely first floor bathroom, smiling at his own reflection in satisfaction.  He wouldn't be out of place in this, even beside the other Dalton boys, in their bespoke tuxedos paid for by their parents.

The dance's location alternated annually, and this year would be held at Dalton.  The other boys were picking their dates up, either at Crawford or their homes, where proud parents would insist on taking pictures.   Kurt had laughed that a limo was a bit unnecessary, since they lived in the same place the dance was being held.  But Blaine had insisted, that Kurt go back to his house to get ready, and they would see each other for the first time all dressed up.  And have the experience of being ooh'ed and aah'ed over as a couple by Kurt's family.  He wanted that for Kurt.   So ... he had worked a bunch more shifts to be able to afford the car too.

Heading back to his bedroom, he was relieved to see a white box with a ribbon on it by his door.  Kurt's boutonniere.  The Prom Committee had distributed a "Language of Flowers" sheet, a reproduction of a page from a Victorian era etiquette book, to each ticket holder.  The local florist was doing a promotion, and it was in truth basically an ad, but Blaine had been charmed by the concept and pored over the list for the perfect boutonniere for Kurt.  One that would go with anything, because he was determined not to see Kurt before the full reveal or ask him any questions.  But mainly, one that would convey a special message.

He opened the box to check it.  Perfect.  A red rose, for true love. And it had cost him a fortune, but tied together with a flaming red ginger flower, meaning strength, and a bit of red alstromeria, meaning devotion. He had so many feelings about Kurt they were hard to narrow down to three flowers, but. He was happy with this and hoped Kurt would be too.  

As he stood, he noticed a few feet beyond his door, a small white box, tied with ribbon ... and a bouquet of flowers, lying on the floor alongside the wall.  He looked around at the empty hall, then back at the gifts.  What an elaborate bouquet ... and too large to be carried to a dance.  Carefully closing the box for Kurt's flowers, he went over and picked up the bouquet with one hand, but there was no card, other than a slip tied to a ribbon with the "Language of Flowers" sheet, some of the flower names circled.  

Turning the flowers in his hand, Blaine wondered at the selection.  Kurt must have gotten carried away by the moment and not realized how many flowers he'd picked out, no doubt for their special meanings, because there were some weird things in here.  He put the bouquet carefully under one arm and bent to pick up the box.  He stopped, frozen, when he saw the card.

"BA - 2009".


	50. Floriography

"So is this like preppy prom?" Mercedes called from her place on Kurt's bed.  

"No, not exactly.  Probably more like homecoming," he explained.  He emerged from behind a screen in all his glory:  tuxedo jacket, vest, and kilt.  "What do you think?  Will I make a splash?"

Mercedes surveyed him dubiously.  

"What?"

"You know I enjoy your out-there approach to fashion, Kurt.  But you always need to think of your audience.  Is it a bit 'much' for the Stepford School?"

"I think it'll be fine.  But do you think _Blaine_ will like it?"

"I think he'll like you in anything," Mercedes said.  "He's been working really hard to be able to take you to this thing.  I see him all the time at the Lima Bean."

Kurt turned rosy pink. "You do?"

"Yep.   He really cares about you.  You may want to watch that."

Deflated, Kurt turned to his mirrored table to check his hair and cover his hurt feelings.  "What do you mean?"

Mercedes came and stood beside him.  "That boy is sweet as can be, Kurt, but ... there's a lot of pain there," she said gently.  "Just, remember that he's fragile, and needy ... I don't know what I'm getting at.  Just, try to encourage him to get help.  Real help, not just showing up to therapy once a week and not even telling them what he's going through."

"Well, on the bright side, Miles hasn't been bothering Blaine lately.  And we're working on a way to get evidence against him, so he can't hurt anybody else."

"Regular Batman and Robin," Mercedes said.  "I'm not sure which one you are."

"Batman.  I like his cape, and he's taller."

"You're crazy, you know that?"  She picked up a white box by Kurt's bed.  "What's this?  Boutonniere?" 

"Of course." She opened the lid and peeked in. "Baby's breath?  Really?  That's the best you could do?"

Kurt turned and took the box from her hands.  "In Victorian floriography, baby's breath is everlasting love."  He smiled tenderly down at the spray of tiny white buds.

"In 2009, baby's breath is cheap," Mercedes giggled, and Kurt had to smile in spite of himself.

"Blaine will know what it means," he whispered.

_ * _ * _ * _ *  * _ * _ * _

Blaine trembled as he took a closer look at the bouquet.   It looked harmless enough, if a bit mismatched; but.  He could see some pink carnations.  He looked at the card's translation.   _I will never forget you_.   Yellow carnations.   _You have disappointed me._  Yellow roses _... betrayal._

 

He didn't know the names of most of the other flowers in this strange bouquet, so sitting down on the bed, he laid the card beside the flowers and continued decoding the message Miles, of course, must have sent him.  

Camellia- _My destiny is in your hands_.  Columbine-   _Desertion_.  Liatris -   _I will try again._ Tuberose - _Dangerous pleasures._  Dogwood - _Love undiminished by adversity._ Purple hyacinth - _please forgive me_. Anemone - _forsaken._

 

Mistletoe _.  I surmount all obstacles._

 

Blaine looked next at the box.  Reaching for it with shaking hands, he whispered, "Okay.  Let's see it, then."

 

Flipping over the lid, he looked at his cellphone.  A brand new SIM card lay on top of it.  It seemed Miles had taken out the old one, erasing all his data, all his texts and photos, all his memories.  A post-it instructed him.  

 

_Call me._

 

__

 


	51. Come What May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter Formal Time!

The theme for this year's Winter Formal was Victoriana, another reminder for Kurt that this sure wasn't McKinley.  The main ballroom was halfway there as it was, with its velvet drapes and wood paneling, and the Crawford-Dalton decorating committee had outdone itself with a dark and stylish rendition of the theme, heavy on the steam punk and Sherlock Holmes influences.  It was a beautiful, ghoulish take on 1890s London.  Most of the boys had opted for ordinary tuxedos, but some of the more imaginative, like Kurt in his brocade waistcoat and top hat, had added Victorian touches to their ensembles.  As he looked around in the doorway, Kurt was impressed at how all-out many of the Crawford girls had gone with their outfits.  He imagined that, like him, they welcomed the chance to dress up, and departed from their drab uniforms as much as possible.

"Everyone looks so good," Kurt whispered to Blaine.  "Especially you.  I love your tuxedo.  So classic."

"Thanks," Blaine said, looking distracted.  Kurt noticed his eyes dart to one side and then away quickly.  Looking over, he saw Miles Stevens and his family, along with Wes, and Oliver's date - a red-headed freshman and Crawford Nightingale, wearing a rather dowdy pink dress, looking just as shy and young and innocent as Oliver.  Poppy, meanwhile, was stunning in a red velvet dress with a black corset, lace-up boots, and tiny red-and-black hat and veil perched on her long brunette hair, styled to one side with ringlets sweeping over her shoulder.  She caught him looking, so Kurt tipped his hat across the hallway to her, and she grinned back and winked.

"Is that Mrs. Stevens?" Kurt murmured over the cup of punch Blaine handed him.  Blaine glanced over furtively and nodded.  Kurt discreetly observed her.  She was a bit on the mousy side at first glance.  Dark, gray streaked hair she wasn't bothering to color, swept up at the back of her neck.  Not much makeup. But a fine-boned, elegant profile. Intelligent eyes.  Looked like old money, with her expensive, plainly cut black gown.  Several long strings of pearls and some lace gloves were a nod to the theme without being too costumey.  She was hanging onto Miles' arm as he spoke to a male colleague.  She had her gray-blue eyes glued to his face, and Miles never looked at her or acknowledged her presence.

Poppy dragged Wes across the floor, and planted a kiss on each of them.  "So.  You ready for our duet?" she asked Blaine.  

Blaine was looking into his punch cup as if trying to parse the meaning of tea leaves at the bottom.  "Blaine?" Wes prompted.  "Poppy asked if you're ready for the leads' duet to start off the dance."

"Still not sure why it had to be a boy-girl duet," Kurt said, trying to take the focus off Blaine, who had been quiet all evening, even at his house.  

"Because it's the leads of the two schools, and Crawford is all-girls, and Dalton's all-boys," Poppy explained with elaborate condescension.  "You know that, Kurt.  Don't try to make a thing out of it.  Nobody here is homophobic, okay?  In fact, after I duet with your boyfriend, and I duet with mine," she pulled on Wes' arm.  "There's nothing to keep the two of you from doing the same.  How about it?"

Trent was passing by, hand-in-hand with another Dalton boy, and had caught the end of the conversation.  "I second that motion," he said.  "How about representing the gay contingent with a love song?"

Blaine was sweating visibly at this point, eyes flickering involuntarily to Miles.  "I - I don't - I don't know.  I haven't prepared anything with Kurt."

"Oh, c'mon," Trent coaxed.  "You two sing together all the time.  How about 'Come What May'?  That fits the theme perfectly, 1890s Englishman falls in love - -"

"Moulin Rouge is in Paris, not London," Kurt said shortly.  He was getting frightened by the shaking he could sense in Blaine's hand, clutching his.  

"Close enough," Poppy said.  "It's settled.  You're doing it. I love that song and I can't wait to dance to it. In fact, I'm telling the orchestra right now."  She drained her punch glass and hurried off toward the bandstand.  

"Blaine.  We don't have to, if you don't want to sing in - in front of him," Kurt whispered in Blaine's ear.  He was surprised when a cold, angry look passed over Blaine's face and he turned to see Blaine staring Miles down until he finally actually looked away and at his wife.  When he finally did, a plaintive, pleased look flitted over her face that made Kurt's heart ache for her.  That poor deluded fool.

"I want to sing it.  I want to sing it in front of him," Blaine spat out, as close to hate in his eyes as Kurt had ever seen.  "He doesn't own me and he's going to see that tonight."  

"O- okay," Kurt said softly.  

The cloud passed over Blaine's face, and he looked into Kurt's eyes.  "I love that song.  I love singing it with you.  Will you sing it with me?  Right now, first, before I sing with Poppy?  But ... only if you want to," he added, shy and so, so sweet.  Kurt was a little dizzy from all the mood swings, but his heart couldn't pass up a chance to sing the first song at the dance with his sweetheart.  So he nodded.  

"I'll do anything for you, Blaine.  Anything you want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome and help me feel motivated to keep the story moving forward! Thank you!


	52. Poppy's Phone

Kurt thought he would remember that duet for the rest of his life.   The Nightingales and Warblers improvised their a capella background impeccably, and he and Blaine were in perfect form for this duet that they'd 'practiced' so many times already, even before they were boyfriends.  It was a beautiful performance, but more, it was as romantic a moment as anyone could hope for.  And more than Kurt, alone out of the closet at McKinley, could have dreamed of a few months before.

Not even the knowledge that Miles was among the crowd in the darkened room could spoil it; the lights on stage kept him from being able to see the audience clearly, and once Blaine took his hand and started singing to him, he never even looked away from Blaine's face.  All too soon, it was over and they were being cheered by the assembled performers as well as their fellow students.  

After that, he and Blaine step-touched side-by-side, and hand-in-hand, through the background vocals for Poppy and Wes' duet- - "Don't Go Breaking My Heart."  After that, Kurt had to let Blaine's hand loose, so he could go sing "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing" with Poppy, as Kurt and Wes, along with the Nightingales and Warblers, backed their regular lead singers.  Kurt comforted himself a bit by noting that Blaine looked slightly over Poppy's shoulder whenever the choreography permitted, into his eyes rather than Poppy's.

After their three musical numbers, the DJ took over and Kurt danced every dance, fast ones and slow ones, with Blaine, for over an hour, though it seemed less than that somehow.  But even the charms of swaying back and forth with his chin hooked over Blaine's shoulder, couldn't stave off hunger and thirst forever.  Kurt was just feeling a bit parched, and about to suggest a break, when Blaine leaned back.

"I'll get us some more punch," Blaine offered, and Kurt nodded breathlessly.   Blaine pressed a kiss to his cheek and started working his way through the crowd to the refreshment table.

Kurt looked around and saw Poppy and Wes seated at a nearby table, intent on something on Poppy's phone.  He headed over toward them, wiping his face discreetly with a handkerchief.  Placing it in his pocket, he nodded at Wes.  "What're you two doing on your cellphone at a dance?  You're giving our generation a bad name."  He smiled and sat next to Poppy.  "What app is this?"

Poppy looked up briefly, then tilted the phone slightly so Kurt could see it.  "It's actually an app parents use to track their kids' cellphone use.  Only this time, I put it on my dad's phone while he was in the shower this morning.  He has no idea."

Kurt looked at her, surprised.  "You're ... monitoring your father's phone?"

"Yep," she said, grimly.  "He's typing a message right now, in fact.  On one of his burner numbers.  There - he sent it."

The message pinged onto Poppy's screen.

**I suppose you think you're being clever**

Kurt glanced over at Blaine.  He was waiting on line to get them some punch, and put his hand to his pocket just at that moment, with a small frown.  Kurt watched him get off the line and head for a dim corner, pulling a phone from his pocket.  Kurt felt a pang.  He didn't know Blaine had replaced his phone - - 

"She's answering him," Poppy said, reaching for Wes' hand.  Kurt saw that Blaine was typing onto his phone.  

**idk what u r talking about**

"She doesn't know what he's talking about," Poppy whispered, gnawing on one knuckle.  "What the - wait.  Dad's saying something now."

**you know damn well what**

**don't be a little bitch about this**

**you brought him here to rub my face in it but he can't give you what I can**

"She - she's  _here_?"  Poppy said, incredulous.

Wes frowned, looking around warily.  "And she's here with someone else," he pointed out.  "Maybe her husband?  The only  married, female Dalton teachers here tonight are Mrs. Carlyle and Ms. White.  I don't see either of them right now."

Kurt was sweating.  "Poppy.  I - I don't know if - if what you're doing is legal - it's like - like wire tapping - -"

"Sssh," she hushed him.  "That slut is answering now. Oh, God, Wes, if they start sexting I'm going to throw up - wait -"

**i love him and i have a right to be happy miles**

Kurt flushed with pride.

"Well, maybe this thing is about to run its course," Wes said.  "She has somebody else now, looks like."

"Unless she's trying to make him jealous.  Are there any single teachers here with dates?" Poppy asked.  

Wes looked around.  "I think Ms. Martinez was here, but I didn't see a date with her ...?"

"He's typing again," Poppy cut him off.

  
**i'm in the common room**

**come meet me**

**please baby i love you so much just meet me**

Kurt held his breath, watching Blaine glance down at his phone again across the room and start texting.  

"She typed, 'what's the point,'" Poppy was reading off her phone.  "She says it's over."

"Thank goodness.  If she's ending it, then we can stop trying to catch him in the act," Wes said, putting an arm around Poppy's slender shoulders.  "Honey, what - what's wrong?"

Kurt turned back to look at his friends.  Poppy's face was white to the lips, her hands shaking.  She pushed her chair back and hurried off without a word, dropping her phone on the floor as she ran off, Wes in pursuit.  Kurt subtly picked up the phone, and looked down at the phone's last message from Miles.

**you get your bitch ass to the common room now or i will ruin you**

 


	53. Interlude

"Your punch, sir," Blaine said.  He held out a cut-crystal punch cup, and Kurt took it, setting it on the table.  

"Sit down," he said.  "You'll never guess what just happened."

Blaine pulled up the chair Poppy had just vacated, and took a sip of his drink.  "Gossip?  Do tell."

Kurt drummed the table with his fingertips.  "You already know part of it."

"I do?"

"Yes.  Apparently Poppy installed some app on her father's phone and she's been monitoring his texts."

Comprehension dawned on Blaine's face.  "Oh."  He placed his cup on the table next to Kurt's.

"Yes.  Oh."  Kurt threw up his hands in frustration.  "How come you didn't tell me Miles gave your phone back?"

Blaine tilted the cup on the table, watching the flickering candlelight playing on the shimmering ruby surface.  "He sent it to me right before I left to pick you up.  Along with a bouquet of flowers."  He reached into his pocket and produced the crumpled paper, with all the circled flowers and their Victorian meanings.  

Kurt smoothed it out and scanned the list, then shook his head.  "Blaine.  This guy is crazy."

"I didn't say anything because ... I didn't want to talk about this on our special night.  That's all.  I was going to tell you tomorrow.  Is one night without talking about him too much to ask?"

"I suppose not," Kurt sighed. pocketing the list.  "But I'm not sure it's a great idea to have that phone.  What if he does what Poppy did to him, and starts monitoring your texts and calls?  Or uses the GPS in the phone to track your whereabouts?  Blaine, he's so dangerous.  Don't give him a way to keep tabs on you."

Blaine nodded slowly.  "I guess I'm so conditioned to obey him, I was afraid not to take it."  He took the phone out and looked at it. "He just summoned me to the common room.  Like he owns me."

"What are you going to do?" Kurt asked quietly.

Blaine looked at the phone a moment, then in a quick movement, held it over his nearly-full, crystal punch cup.  The phone dropped in, with a musical clinking sound and a crimson splash.


	54. Confrontation

Blaine washed his hands in the bathroom sink, then dried them on a paper towel, while surveying himself in the mirror.  The evening had been nearly perfect, even with Miles glowering away at him from across the room all night, and even though Kurt had been miffed at him briefly about the matter of his accepting Miles' return of his phone.  Kurt didn't seem to understand the position he was in.  He wanted to finish out the semester before going to the police about Miles, and putting an end to his scholarship - and with it, the Warblers, Dalton, his friends.  Maybe his relationship with Kurt, too, eventually.  If they sent him back to New York, back to the foster care system he had run away from, he'd survive, but would their young romance survive the distance?

So he was putting off the inevitable.  But in the meantime, Miles had to be dealt with.  He refused to be ignored or put on the back burner for long.  And that meant placating him to some degree, at least until the charade was over for good and all.  He had thrown away that phone, wanting it to mean something, believing it did. But ... it might be a mistake. Miles didn't take well to defiance, and when he found out. He shuddered, then tossed the paper in the trash, then adjusted the cuffs of his shirt under his jacket carefully.  Turning, he gasped at the sight of Miles standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

"Miles -"

"I waited for you in the common room for ten minutes."  Miles put his hand in his pocket, and drew it up slowly, letting Blaine see the shimmer of the pistol.  

"You brought a gun to a school dance?" Blaine shook his head contemptuously.  "Like you're really going to shoot me in the school bathroom with your wife and children a few hundred feet away?  Get real, Miles.  Now I have a date I want to get back to."

Miles grabbed him by the shirt front with his free hand, and shoved him back against the sink.  "You have the nerve to flaunt that twink in my face?  After all I've done for you?"

Blaine met his eyes.  "Miles.  Let me go, I'm warning you.  I'm just about fed up with you and your threats."

"That's just it! Can't you see how crazy you're making me?  What you must mean to me, if you can make me act like this?"

"I don't believe you," Blaine snapped.  "You lied to me.  You said I was the only boy you ever loved, but - - -"

"Is that what this is?  Jealousy - - ?"  Miles reached out and laid his hand on Blaine's cheek. Blaine turned his face away in disgust; but he was keenly aware of the gun still clutched in the older man's hand.  "Baby, please. Please, believe one thing.  You're the only one who ever really mattered - I've loved you for three years!  Doesn't that show you how special you are to me?.  Nobody else has ever come close to that for me."

Shoving him back, Blaine retorted, "Not even your wife?"

Miles rushed back into him, slamming his body against Blaine's, crushing him painfully against the sink.  "Don't - don't bring her into this.  Okay?  That was a - marriage of convenience from the start.  You're the love of my life, baby, please know that - - "

Blaine struggled to free himself, from Miles' frantic kisses down his neck, Miles' knee forcing its way between his legs, his free hand scrabbling at Blaine's belt, when he heard the door from the entry area to the bathroom, into the hallway outside, slam shut.  "There - -Miles -- someone was here - -" he gasped.

"Damn it- " Miles released him and turned, shoving the gun in his pocket and running through the doorway, through the antechamber outside, and flung open the door.  "Who's there?" he called, and then ran out into the hallway.

Winded and terrified, Blaine turned to the mirror and smoothed his hair, righted his rumpled shirt and straightened his tie, as quickly as he could.  The face looking back at his was ashen and damp with sweat, and he was shaking like a leaf, but he had to pull himself together.  He couldn't let Kurt see.  He had only a few more weeks with Kurt before he would have to give it all up to turn Miles in.  But some instinct told him.  Without proof ... who would believe him?  Who would be punished in the end?  The predator, with all the connections and money behind him, or the poor kid with a fake name and a troubled past?

He stared at his reflection, already knowing the answer.

 


	55. The Stevens Family

Kurt looked at his watch, getting a little worried.  The ballroom was emptying out, and Blaine had left for the bathroom a while ago.  He realized he was being a bit overprotective.  Wes and Poppy had, no doubt, followed Miles to the common room and were keeping tabs on him, wherever Miles was now.  

Looking up, he frowned to see ... Wes coming into the ballroom, hand-in-hand with a downcast-looking Poppy.  Miles and Blaine were still nowhere to be seen.  He got up from his chair and hurried over to Wes.

"So ... is everything okay?" he asked.  He fished in his pocket and handed over Poppy's sparkly purple iPhone.  "You dropped this."

She took it with a nod.  "Thanks, Kurt."

"Um.  Where's your Dad?" he asked.  "Still in the ... the common room?"

Poppy shook her head.  "He locked the door when he went in there, and we waited outside until just now.  He never came out that way, and nobody went in.  Wes finally went around to the other exit, you know, the one through the Warbler library - it was open."

Kurt swallowed hard.  

"He must have gone out that way," Wes added.  "Because when I peeked in, nobody was in the common room.   I have no idea how long we wasted sitting outside."

"Honey?" a woman's soft voice called from behind Kurt.   He turned to see Sylvia Stevens walking toward them.  For the first time, now that she was close up, Kurt noticed how very thin and how very pale she was.  

"What's up, Mom?" Poppy said.   Her voice was strained, but Kurt noticed Poppy was forcing a smile.  

As Mrs. Stevens approached,  Kurt dropped back slightly, with a respectful nod.   

"Mom, this is Kurt Hummel," Poppy said.  "Kurt, this is my mother, Sylvia Stevens."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Kurt mumbled, his eyes scanning the room, looking and praying for a sight of Blaine, or if not that, of Miles.  

Sylvia smiled kindly at Kurt.  "Nice to meet you too, Kurt."  Turning to her daughter, she said, "I can't find your father, honey, and I - I'd like to go home."

Poppy searched her mother's face.  "Headache again?"  She reached up and tucked  back a loose strand of her mother's hair that had escaped the heavy knot of hair at the nape of her neck.  

"Yes," Sylvia said.  "Yes.  That's ... yes.  A headache.  I'll just go get my coat and walk home, if you could tell your father - -"

Wes put a hand on her arm.  "Mrs. Stevens, you shouldn't walk home alone.  I'll get all our coats and we'll walk you there, if - - if we can't find Mr. Stevens by then."

"I'd rather just go now.  I'll be fine, Wes.  I - -"  she paused, swallowing hard.  "I don't want to spoil anyone's good time."  She gave him a weak smile, and turned to go, when Oliver emerged through one of the ballroom entrances.  

"There's Oliver.  Why don't you wait and say good night to him, while I get your coat, ma'am.  It's no trouble," Wes insisted, hurrying off.  

Poppy put a hand up and waved, beckoning to Oliver, who looked at Kurt with a strange expression, and then came over.  "Mom's ready to leave, Ollie.  We're going to walk her back to the house, then come back here.  There are probably some after-parties," she told him.  "Where's Kristin?"

"She took the last bus back to Crawford," Oliver mumbled.  "The freshman girls have a 10 o'clock curfew tonight, and they were supposed to be back on the shuttle bus by 9:45."

"That's right, I forgot," Poppy said.   She still had that overly wide smile, that overly cheerful tone of voice.  "So.  Enjoying your first high school dance?"

Oliver shrugged, as Wes hurried over wearing his winter coat and carrying Poppy's and Mrs. Stevens' wraps.  "Hey.  Look, Mrs. Stevens.  There's your husband."  He pointed toward the door where Oliver had just come in.  Mr. Stevens looked harried, upset, and he went directly to the refreshment table, taking a water bottle and downing it, before glancing over at the group.  

"Maybe Mr. Stevens can walk you home, now," Wes said, gesturing across the room.  Mr. Stevens put the cap back on his water bottle and headed their way.   When he reached them, he took his wife's coat without a word to Wes, and shook it out, holding it up for Mrs. Stevens.  

"Well?" Miles said when she paused.  "I take it you need to leave?"  

Sylvia didn't answer, but stepped forward to allow herself to be helped into the coat.  "I'll wait for you to get your coat, then?" she asked, but Miles was looking at the doorway where he had come in, and didn't seem to hear her.  "Miles?"

"Oh.  Well.  I wasn't actually planning to leave just yet.  I - -" he looked quickly over his shoulder.  "There's the Dean.  I had some matters about - - about the curriculum that I hoped to discuss with him tonight."  He turned to Oliver, who was staring at the ground.  "Maybe this guy could walk you home for me?"

Kurt was startled at the look of total loathing that Oliver turned on his father.  "Maybe you could walk your own wife home, Dad," he snarled, before turning and stalking off toward the exit, where Blaine was just now returning from the bathroom.  Oliver, walking quickly with his head down, bumped against Blaine's shoulder on the way out, then continued without acknowledging him, storming out of the ballroom.

"What's gotten into Ollie?" Poppy said, her worried eyes fixed on the exit.  

"I wouldn't worry about it," Miles said dismissively.  "You know teenage boys.  They can be ... temperamental at times."

Sylvia brushed past Miles without a word and headed after her son, crossing paths with Blaine, who averted his eyes at her approach, on the way.  

 


	56. New Roommate

The Winter Formal over, the routine returned to normal at Dalton over the weekend.  On Monday morning, Blaine was up and on time for breakfast with Kurt, followed by first period history with Ms. Holiday.  She made history come alive, in a way their regular teacher couldn't quite manage, and Blaine was paying rapt attention when the loudspeaker squawked in the corner.  

"Ms. Holiday?"

Holly, in full Queen Elizabeth costume, rose and regally strode over to the speaker, pressing the response button with her scepter.  "Yes?"

"Please send Blaine Anderson down to the residence office."

All heads in the room turned toward Blaine, who shrugged, puzzled as anyone else, and gathered his books into his messenger bag.  He went out into the hall, his steps echoing on the marble tiles as he hurried to the residence office on the main floor.  Once there, he opened the door and poked his head in.  "I'm Blaine Anderson - - I was supposed to come down here?"

A secretary smiled at him, and beckoned him into the office.  "The Assistant Director of Residence wants to see you."  She gestured toward an interior wood-paneled door.  "That's her office. Go right on in, Blaine."

"Thanks," he said, passing the secretary's desk and opening the Assistant Director's door.  As he entered, he first saw a middle-aged woman with dark, curly hair seated at a desk, then, his eyes dropped to the visitor's chairs in front of that desk.  Oliver Stevens was seated in one, looking away from him intently.

"Um.  Hello - I'm sorry - the secretary said to go in - -"  


"I take it you're Blaine Anderson?"  the woman answered.  At his nod, she rose and extended a hand to shake his.  "I'm Mrs. Fisher.  Assistant Director of Residence," she said warmly.  "I understand that you're looking for a roommate."  


Blaine sank into the remaining visitor's chair, looking sidelong at Oliver.  "Well. Um.  Yes, I guess I am."

"Good news.  I thought when we got the request, that it would have to wait until next semester, when we could place you with a transfer student - but Oliver Stevens here has requested a roommate change.  He brought up the fact that you're looking for a roommate, and, well, it seems that putting him in with you would kill two birds with one stone.  I understand you're both in the Warblers, so you're friends?"

There was a brief moment of silence.  Mrs. Fisher looked back and forth between the two boys, then lifted an eyebrow.  

"Well.  Oliver, when you requested to be placed with Blaine, I assumed ... well, is this acceptable, Blaine?" Mrs. Fisher asked.  The phone rang, and she picked it up, holding up a finger at the boys before beginning to talk to her caller.

Blaine leaned over and whispered, "Ollie ... why do you want to move in with me?"

"Oh, well, I really don't get along that well with my roommate," Oliver said.  "The Residence Director posted that you were looking for a roommate.  Seems like a perfect solution for everybody, don't you think?"  He turned and looked Blaine full in the face. "Unless ... there's a problem with us rooming together."

The young boy's eyes were narrowed slightly, and Blaine was a bit taken aback.  He felt like he was being challenged to a duel more than being asked to be roomies; But this bore some consideration.  If Miles' son moved in with him, that would be a pretty strong deterrent against Miles' pestering.  There was no way he could tap on the window or leave a note taped to it, if his son was living there too.  He might have worried about his nightmares giving him away to Oliver, but the new medication he was on for anxiety and depression, now had him sleeping dreamlessly, as if in a coma, most nights.  

"What do your parents think of you moving off the Freshman floor and in with me?" he ventured, and was startled when a flash of anger flickered across Oliver's face, then vanished.  


"I told my parents over the weekend.  I had a long talk with my father about it.  He agreed that I could move.  He signed my permission slip, in fact," he said, reaching out onto Mrs. Fisher's desk and taking a canary-yellow card.  He handed it to Blaine.

Well.  Sure enough, Miles had signed it.  Blaine knew that signature anywhere.  What was going on?  Why was Miles allowing his son to room with his ex-lover, who he was trying desperately to win back?   Was this a setup on Miles' part?

"I really think that it's best ...for  _everybody_ ... if you're not all alone down on the first floor anymore.  Don't you agree?" Oliver said, staring at him unblinkingly.  "My dad thought so, when I asked him about it this morning before homeroom, and gave him that card."

Blaine looked back into Oliver's eyes.  They were determined ... and hostile.  Finally, comprehension dawned on Blaine.  He stammered, "You - you know - - about - -"

"Okay, boys," Mrs. Fisher said, hanging up her phone.  "Do we have an arrangement?"

"Yes," Oliver said.  "We do."  And Blaine nodded numbly in agreement.  


	57. Oliver's Demands

"I'll start moving my things down to our room at lunchtime," Oliver said.  They were standing in the hallway outside the Residence office, and Blaine nodded.

"If you've got anything in the second closet, or in the second desk, I'd appreciate your moving them."  Oliver started down the hallway.

"Oliver," Blaine called after him.  When Oliver turned, he came closer.  "What did your father tell you... about ..."

"About the two of you?" Oliver asked.  "Not that much.  I saw my dad go into the bathroom, and when I went in the outer door, I heard enough to get the picture - that you're having an affair.  Cheating on Kurt and my mom with each other."

"That's not true," Blaine said.  "Your dad is lying to you.  I'm with Kurt now.  I don't want anything to do with your father anymore."

"I saw him and you before I ran out of there," Oliver said.  "You were all over each other."

"That.  That wasn't - that wasn't my choice," Blaine choked out.  This was so hard.  "Ollie, please believe me.  I want this whole thing to be over once and for all."

"That's great.  But what you're leaving out is that you  _were_ having an affair with my dad?  And you knew he has a wife and kids.  That never bothered you at all, did it?"

Blaine looked down at his feet.  How to explain this?  "I was - I was so young when it started," he mumbled.  "Younger than you are now, Ollie.  I - didn't know any better.  I was so alone, and I just wanted somebody to love me.  Please understand - -"

"I don't understand it.  And being young or lonely is no excuse."

"Maybe not.  But please believe me that it's over now."

Oliver looked at him contemptuously.  "Why should I believe you?  You're a phony and a liar, and a homewrecker.  My dad said the same thing, that it's over, that he won't see you again. I don't believe either of you. You'll both say anything to get out of trouble."

"I don't know how to convince you," Blaine said helplessly.  

"Don't bother.  I don't trust either of you as far as I could throw you.  Which is why I'm moving in to keep an eye on you, and make sure you and my dad stay away from each other.  My mother ... she can't handle this.  It'd break her heart to find out Dad is a liar and a cheater ... and that he's gay, and screwing a student," Oliver said bitterly.  "I'm making it my full-time job - 24/7 - to make sure you two are over, whether you like it or not."

Blaine brightened up.  Well.  This wasn't ideal, to be sure.  He'd really rather not have Oliver shadowing his every move, keeping tabs on him.  But - it meant that for the next few weeks, before he turned Miles in, he wouldn't have to deal with Miles' harassment anymore.  "Okay, Ollie," he said, finally.  "I don't blame you for being upset.  You have this wrong, but if you feel better being roommates, then I won't object."

"I'll see you in our room right after class," Ollie said.  

"Sure," Blaine agreed, amiably.  "But right now I have a class, so unless you plan to switch your schedule from Freshman classes to honors Junior classes, I'm afraid we'll have to say good bye now."   He patted Oliver on the arm and sauntered off, feeling a bizarre sense of relief at having this young, hostile new bodyguard.  


	58. Talking About the Past

"Are you sure that living with Oliver is going to work out?" Kurt asked dubiously.  He picked up his sandwich, sniffed it, and dropped it on his tray again in disgust.  "Especially since he knows about you and his dad?"

"I don't know.  I do know that it's going to make it a lot harder for Miles to have access and harass me the last few weeks I'm here," Blaine said.  He picked up his juice box and took a swallow, then looked up at Kurt.  "What - what's the matter?"

Kurt looked stricken.  "The last few weeks you're here?  What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaine stopped eating, and sighed. "Kurt. I ... have to make this clear, I guess." He looked at Kurt's sweet, worried face, and took a deep breath. "There's some things I ... need to tell you about myself.  Things that are going to come out when I report Miles, and reasons why I'm ... really worried about my own credibility.  I -", he stopped, glancing around apprehensively.  The dining hall was nearly empty, but still ... "Maybe this isn't the place, but ... I've put it off long enough."

"What is it, Blaine?"

His appetite gone now too, Blaine pushed his tray to the side and folded his arms on the table.  "I told you a lot of it.  That I was in foster care and group homes.  That I ran away."

"Yes ..."

Blaine fidgeted with his blazer cuffs, then looked up at Kurt again, afraid ... would this be the thing that was too much? That drove innocent, sheltered Kurt away once and for all? Well, he had to be honest, finally, with this most honest person he'd ever met. Kurt deserved it. He plowed ahead.  "I didn't run away because 'they didn't understand me' or something.  I ran away because they were  _hurting_ me.  And nobody believed me.  Then, once I was on the street, I did what I had to.  Begged, stole, hustled - - "

"I know that," Kurt said miserably.  "I know, Blaine, you told me that, and I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"There's a part you don't know.  When I was twelve, I finally fought back, against my foster father at the time."  He bowed his head, squeezing his eyes to try to keep from crying.  "He was going to.  Hurt me again," he said wretchedly.  "I stabbed him to get him off me."

Kurt reached across the table to hold Blaine's hand.  "Did you kill him?" he asked, his eyes glimmering.  

"No.  No!"  Blaine said, dismayed.  "No, thank God.  He had to go to the hospital, though, and he told the police I attacked him.  My foster mother backed him up.  So ... I ended up with a juvenile record for assault. But I was defending myself, Kurt -I just couldn't take it anymore.  Please believe me - - "

"I believe you," Kurt insisted.  "You're so kind, so gentle with everybody.  I know that you'd never hurt anybody unless you were forced to."

Blaine collected himself, then continued.  "The homes after that.  Well.  They made the earlier ones look like the Hilton," Blaine said bitterly.  "I was a problem child at that point.  It's like... I was some kind of magnet for perverts after that.  I think they knew that nobody would believe a kid 'like me' if I said anything against them.   So I finally ran away and, well.  Then Miles seemed so nice at first ..."

"Compared to what you were used to," Kurt finished.  "He picked his victim well."  He paused, then, tremulously, ventured a comment.  "Blaine ... maybe ... maybe you  _should_ wait until we get some backup, some evidence this time.  Maybe you were right ... with your past ... what if people don't believe you .... people who don't know you like I do ..."

Blaine swallowed hard.  "There's more.  I.  I'm in this school under false pretenses," he said, his voice shaking.

"Blaine, I know that you feel like you don't deserve your scholarship, but I'm telling you, you do," Kurt reassured him.  "You're a straight-A student, you're a great singer - - "

"I know I can do the work and all that.  That's not what I mean.  I mean, I'm not who the school thinks I am.  My name ... isn't even Blaine Anderson.  It's Juan Santos."

Kurt blinked.  "Your name isn't ... Blaine?  But why did you change it?"

"Miles said I needed to change it, change everything about myself, because of my juvenile record.  I would never get in if they knew about that.  I didn't really care ... my 'real' last name didn't mean much to me, since I hadn't seen my real mom in so long ... So...  I picked the first name from an old movie I watched at Miles' house once.  I love that name, 'Blaine'.  'Juan' was so plain and ordinary, you know?"

Kurt smiled faintly.

Blaine continued, "And he picked my new last name, because he said I'd fit in better as a WASP... and he had a fake transcript from a private school in New York made up and sent, by some friend of his there.  He's the head of the committee that awards my scholarship and he ... just pushed my application through.  Nothing was ever double-checked.  And I've been this other person ever since.  So you see.  When I tell the truth about Miles, the rest of it will come out and I'll be expelled.  For fraud.  Like I deserve, I guess."

"You don't deserve to be expelled," Kurt cut in.  "You deserve to be here more than anybody.  You've overcome so much.  I'm prouder than ever of you," he said.  "But ... I think we need to rethink the approach, based on what you just told me." 

"What do you mean?"

Kurt squeezed Blaine's hand.  "I want to find a way to get him without bringing you into it at all.   You need to be protected at all costs."  He let go of Blaine's hand and reached into his messenger bag.  "I know we had no luck with Jason, but there are others.  More recent ones.  I want to keep trying to get one of them to come forward."

"Instead of me, you mean?"  Blaine said dubiously.  "Not  _with_ me anymore?"

"Yes.  Once you get out of school, you can always tell on Miles, but I didn't realize how much you have to lose.  I think you should keep quiet until we get solid proof, at least, and longer if we can manage it.  And we need to work really hard on this.  We've been slacking off lately," Kurt said, his face all adorable determination.  

Blaine was smitten more than ever with Kurt, his smart mind, his sense of justice, his loyalty and his compassion.  But a part of him was disappointed that the plan was being postponed.  Part of him wanted this to be over, one way or another, and stop living under the cloud of Miles' influence ... but ... he watched darling Kurt focusing intently on some notes in the composition book he had started on "the case" as Kurt called his vendetta against Miles, and ... he decided to wait a bit longer ... have a bit more time with this beautiful kind boy and be Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel's sweetheart, just a while longer. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~* ~ * ~ * ~

 

Oliver closed his algebra book and clicked off his desk lamp.  Sitting on his bed, Blaine looked up from his Calculus book.  "Calling it a night?"

"Yes," Oliver said.  He shed his robe and hung it neatly on the back of their door. "You can keep your light on if you want to."

He and Oliver had been rooming together for almost a week now, strangely formal and cordial for the most part, though Blaine couldn't go to the bathroom or to the vending machine without Miles' son keeping tabs on him, which was a bit irritating.  The arrangement was working to keep Miles away, though, so he figured it was, on balance, just as well that Oliver was here.

"I'm about done myself," Blaine said, rubbing his eyes.  "I think I'm caught up from ... from when I was out that week after Thanksgiving."  He leaned over and placed the textbook on the pile of books he kept under his nightstand.  "Good night, Oliver."

He clicked off the light, and lay down, pulling his blanket up around his chest, and shut his eyes, thinking comforting thoughts of his Kurt, when Ollie interrupted from his bed across the room.

"Blaine."

"Mm hm?"

There was a pause, and Blaine nearly drifted off in the silence, but Oliver spoke again.  "When - when did it start between you and my dad?  How long had you been a student here?"

Blaine lay staring up at the darkness.  "Oliver ... I'm not sure it's a good idea for us to talk about your father.  The details ... they're not that pleasant."

Oliver was quiet again for just a moment.  "I just want to know what made you want to be with someone so old, and ... and married."

What to do, when the young, innocent son of his abuser was asking him to explain why he let himself be abused.  Part of him was reluctant to hurt Ollie with the details.  But, on the other hand, his therapist had said it was good to talk about his problems.  Of course, the only person he had talked to so far was Kurt, not his new therapist or Susan or Dr. Johnson, because he was afraid of his story getting out.  Oliver was the one person who already knew part of the story , and who wasn't likely to tell anyone else, and if he wanted to know ... maybe he had a right to.  It was his family that was involved, after all.  He turned his head to look over at the huddle of blankets on the other side of the room. 

"Are you sure you want to know this, Oliver?"

"Yes - - I need to try to understand what this ... thing is between you and my dad. I just don't get it, Blaine.  Please?"

Blaine paused, then sighed.  "Okay, then.  Well, I was 13 when I met your dad.  I was homeless.  And living on the street any way I could.  I'd been abused my whole life, and then I met your father.  He picked me up and ... I guess he kept me, like a stray dog he'd found.  He seemed kind, compared to ... other people I knew.  He bought me nice clothes, gave me all I wanted to eat.  We spent the summer together in Manhattan ... you may not remember but he was conducting there for the season."

"I remember that," Ollie said, his voice hollow.  "I didn't see him once that summer."

Blaine thought back to that once magical-seeming summer.  "I watched every performance he conducted.  When he wasn't conducting, he took me to museums ... concerts, plays.  I got to stay in a nice hotel.  He dressed me up like an overgrown doll ... taught me table manners, you know, like what fork to use.  Helped me get rid of my New York accent.  Then ... he was going back here in the fall, and I thought it would all be over, but ... he surprised me.  He put in an application for a scholarship here, in my name, and ... the rest is history."

"So ... you  _do_ love him, then?"  Oliver asked, his voice faint.  

"No," Blaine said shortly.   This kid.  He just didn't get it, and Blaine was feeling tired out from all his confessions and reliving all of it, first with Kurt who understood everything, and now with Oliver who understood nothing. "Not really.  I was a kid and grateful for his help, and I didn't know any better.  And before you say it - - he doesn't love me either, not really.  He never has.   He just used me.  I realize that now."

Oliver fell quiet again and Blaine rolled over on his side, sorry he had told Oliver anything at all, and squeezing his eyes shut tight, willing sleep to come.

"Blaine?"  

When Blaine refused to respond, Oliver quietly said, "I"m sorry ... that my Dad took advantage of you.  And that I have to ... sort of supervise you and all that, like this.  I just ... have to do what I need to, to protect my mom.  She's my mom, you - you must know how that is?"

"I wouldn't know," Blaine said bitterly.  

 

 


	59. Plotting

"C'mon in," Blaine said, welcoming Kurt in with a sweet kiss.  "We have the room to ourselves for a while."

"You mean the jailer got the night off?"

"Yes.  He went to have dinner with his father and Poppy tonight, off campus.  Their reservations were at 8, so.  We should have some privacy for a change for a few hours.   Do you have your iPhone?"

Kurt handed it over, and Blaine touched the music icon, then scrolled to the playlist marked "Blaine and Kurt Songs."  He hit shuffle, and "At Last" by Etta James started playing.  He set the iPhone against the lamp on his nightstand and beckoned to Kurt to cuddle next to him on the bed.  But Kurt already had his nose in his Case Book, and absently sat down while studying it carefully.

"Kurt.  Put that thing away, it's Friday night."

"I just feel like we're missing something," Kurt mused, scooting over close to Blaine, butt-cheek to butt-cheek, shoulder-to-shoulder.  Blaine looked over his shoulder at the list Kurt was studying, of all the Nathaniel Dalton Memorial Scholarship winners.  "I just wish we'd gotten a better look at those SD cards," he said.  "Or that I'd had the sense to just take all of them while we were at it, and just ... mail them to the police."

"You know why we can't do that.  These guys have to do this voluntarily," Blaine said, nibbling at Kurt's neck softly.  

"Still.  I doubt he destroyed them.  He spent too long, and went to too much trouble, to collect them," Kurt said.  "It's just a question of where."

Blaine laid his head on Kurt's shoulder.  "If we knew where they were, maybe we could just call the police and tip them off that there's child pornography stashed at such-and-such a place," he suggested.  "Then the police could do a raid.  But, I still feel weird about doing that to the other kids without giving them some kind of warning."

"But where, that's the question.  I doubt he'd risk keeping them at the office once we found them there."

"Maybe a safe deposit box, like I was going to use," Blaine suggested.

Kurt shook his head.  "I don't think so," he mused.  "You weren't interested in  _looking_ at the pictures.  You were just keeping them safe, so having them accessible wasn't a priority for you.  I think Miles probably wants to have those pictures where he can look at them when he wants to."

"That leaves his house, but ... would he really keep them there?" Blaine said, dubiously.  "Sure, Poppy and Oliver are boarding, but they go in and out of that house pretty freely.  And there's his wife, though.  I think Oliver said that she went out of town to do some concerts, right after the Winter Formal.  She's not due back until tomorrow."

"It's possible, I suppose.  For all the good that'll do us.  We're not going to be able to search the house," Kurt said, defeated.  "I guess the only thing to do is just ... start e-mailing  _all_ the scholarship winners and hope that we're right, that some or all of the other boys on those cards, were on this list."

"So you have all their e-mails?" Blaine said, impressed.

"Yes.  I'm just trying to figure out how to word this e-mail so I don't mortally offend anyone," Kurt said.  He handed Blaine a draft.  "What do you think of this?"

**Dear ______________,**

**I am a student at Dalton Academy investigating allegations of improper conduct by a teacher, involving a number of recipients of the Nathaniel Dalton Memorial Scholarship.  I understand you were a recipient of that Scholarship.  If you were a victim of improper conduct, or are able to provide any information relevant to this investigation, please contact me by return e-mail to arrange a phone call or meeting.  Your assistance may prevent future abuses.  Thank you.**

Blaine handed the paper back.  "That's really good, Kurt.  Super vague, so you're not suggesting anything, and you can't get in any trouble for it, but specific enough that if someone  _was_ molested, they'll know what you mean.  If they want to help, then they can."

"But it sure would be better if we could at least limit it to the kids on the cards.  If these guys _weren't_ molested, then one of them may call the school and bring this to their attention."

"I didn't think of that," Blaine said, concerned.  "Could you get in trouble for that?"

"Possibly," Kurt said calmly.  "But I plan to send the e-mail from a unique e-mail account, from the library computer.  That way, it can't be traced to me."

"Miles will know it's one of us, though, if it's from a school computer," Blaine pointed out.  "So maybe go to a public library?  At least then, he can't be sure it came from someone with access to a Dalton computer."

"Good thinking, partner," Kurt smiled.  He closed his book.  "Now.  I have less than an hour before lights-out check.  I think a break is in order," he slid down a bit on the bed, and drew Blaine down on top, slipping his arms around Blaine's neck.  "I do believe it's time for an unscheduled make-out session."

 


	60. Opportunity Knocks

Blaine saw Kurt off with a final kiss and cuddle, back up the stairs to get counted with the other kids on the second floor. He still had a dopey, dreamy smile on his face as he closed the door. They had gotten a bit carried away, farther than they ever had before, nature taking its course ... and both had gotten each other off for the first time. He was so happy, he could barely believe it. And judging by Kurt's eyes looking up into his, as they frantically and a little clumsily groped and stroked each other to climax, and his goofy, giddy smiles afterwards, Kurt was happy too. Humming "At Last" under his breath, Blaine tidied the rumpled bed, and went to take pajamas out to change into.

As he did, he looked at the clock. 9:00 p.m. Poppy, Oliver, and Miles would be halfway through dinner now, at a restaurant an hour from here. And he stood stock still as a light dawned about the meaning of this.

Right now, he had a nearly unique opportunity to get into Miles' house without his shadow, Oliver, questioning where he was going. But ... how would he get into the house? Surely Miles would have locked the door. But. He sidled over to Oliver's desk. Feeling supremely guilty, he slid open the top drawer, where he had seen Oliver returning keys whenever he came into the room. 

There, lying in the desk drawer - a spare set of keys. One, he recognized as the key to their room. The other ... had to be a key to Miles' house.

It was a sign. Kurt had said they needed more proof, and here was a golden opportunity, one that might not present itself again. He impulsively took the key, and shut the drawer. Turning, he shucked off his sticky clothes and dressed in dark jeans and sweater, sneakers, and his winter jacket. Once dressed, he stuck his head out the door to his room and checked. The coast was clear, and he headed out the back door, trudging through the snow toward Miles' house.


	61. Trent's Encouragement

Kurt nearly vibrated with happiness as he floated up the stairs from Blaine's room.  They had seen each other almost naked!  They had touched each other's ... each other!  They had made each other ...  _oh my God_ , he trembled with excitement and afterglow and love.  It had been better than anything that he had ever felt or imagined.  

Every fiber of his being wanted to go back to Blaine's arms, and do it again, and again, and again.  He stood outside his room, love-drunk and happy, trying to collect himself.  Act cool.  He wiped his sweaty face with his sleeve, and squared his shoulders, arranging his face in a way he hoped looked nonchalant.  Be cool, Hummel.  He opened the door, came in and dropped his bag on his desk.  He was taking off his blazer when Trent looked up.

"Oh my god.  You got some," Trent said, grinning ear to ear.  

"What - - how - - how do you - -"

Trent flung his Calculus book to the side.  "Tell me everything.  In graphic detail," he demanded, sitting up straight and folding his hands on his knee.  

"Well.  I'm not the type to kiss and tell," Kurt said coyly, hanging up the blazer.

"I've been rooting for you two all semester.  You'd better start being the type to kiss and tell," Trent warned, still grinning.  "How far did you go?"

"Trent!"

"Oh, c'mon!  Give me a little something!  Hands?"

Kurt blushed.  "Yes," he murmured, unable to contain his grin.  "And ... it was beautiful.  Perfect."

"Really. And how long?" Trent said saucily.

Kurt threw a pillow at him.  "I was talking about - - about being together, was beautiful and perfect, Trent.  Not about Blaine's - - his - -"  He gestured.  After a moment, he couldn't contain his grin.  "Even though, I have to say, it  _was_ pretty flawless too."

"You animal!" Trent crowed.  "Good for you.  But I have one question?"

"Just one," Kurt said dryly, taking his shower caddy out.  "I have to get into the shower before Wes and David come around for checks."

"Just one," Trent agreed.  "I heard Oliver say he was going out to dinner on the far side of Westerville tonight.  He won't be back before the dorm is locked, and he's going to stay with his dad tonight.  So.  What are you doing up here?"

Kurt looked at him, eyebrow raised.  

"I'll cover for you.  Go," Trent said, grinning.  "Enjoy ... and all I ask in return is that you give me a more detailed report afterwards, than I got tonight."

"Deal," Kurt said, grabbing his pajamas and bolting out the door.

 


	62. The Study

Blaine unlocked the front door to the Stevens' house, and stepped into the foyer.  Slipping the key into his pocket, he flipped on the lights.  This house was hidden by the trees, out of sight of the other buildings, and the Stevens family wasn't due back for at least another two or three hours.  He was well familiar with the layout, having met Miles here often enough.  He thought he knew the best place to look for incriminating evidence.  

He passed through the living room with Sylvia's grand piano standing in the middle of it.   He went over to the piano and touched the keys gently, looking at Miles and Sylvia's wedding picture set on top.  Sylvia was a far better pianist that he was, concert-level.  She always played a few pieces for the big assembly at the beginning of the academic year, and often gave a performance at the school concerts as well, usually accompanying a student solo.  He had squirmed internally through an entire solo himself just last spring, with his lover's wife at the piano beside him.  

He picked up the wedding photo and studied it.  They had gotten married in the 1980s, and Sylvia had on an absolute horror-show of a gown, with leg-of-mutton sleeves, an illusion cut-out neckline, and one of those odd headbands with a pouf of tulle at the back and teased hair above it.  He looked at her trusting face, and then at Miles' blank, unfeeling expression.  Poor Sylvia.  She never had a chance to know real love ... only an illusion like the filmy stuff her veil was made of.  He pitied her ... even as young as he was, at least he had felt and received real love.  He replaced the framed photo on the piano carefully, and then went to the study door.  Putting his hand on the knob, he turned, and then turned the other way.  It was locked.

Damn it.  And no Santana here to help pick the lock.  He looked around, then back at the foyer, where a glass table held a large silver bowl.  He went over to it and, sure enough, there were various key rings there - extra keys.  He picked them up, and flicked through them.  One was an extra key to a Cadillac - Miles' car.  He took that ring and went back to the door, trying all the house keys one by one, until finally, the door opened.  He pocketed the keys and went in, turning on the light.  

The room was old-fashioned, with a roll-top desk and leather desk chair, and a recliner in the corner.  It was lined with bookshelves.  He scanned the shelves idly, noting that most of the books were about music, but with a number of modern and Renaissance art books as well.  Turning back to the desk, his eyes fell on a laptop.  Sitting down, he opened it and the screen brightened.  

It was password protected, of course.  Blaine entered Miles' birthday, without luck.  He paused a moment, thinking ... the Warblers had sung Happy Birthday to Oliver, his fifteenth, shortly after he had joined them.  He closed his eyes and thought hard about the date ... and then entered it.  Still no luck.  He had no idea when Poppy's birthday was, but ... he wondered.  It wouldn't likely be any of the family's birthdays.  Something that they wouldn't think of, that meant something to Miles.  On an off chance, he entered his own birthday, then "Blaine."  No luck.  Of course it was silly to think he was important enough to Miles that he would use his name or birthday as a code, but ... something made him try one more.  "JuanSantos."  And just like that, the laptop was unlocked and a series of icons appeared on the screen.  He scrolled through them, opening "Photos", and a group of folders popped up.  One marked, "Family", one marked "Work".  One marked "Concerts".  One marked "Boys" ... and one ... one marked "Juan."

He clicked on Properties, and found that the "Juan" folder had been created when he was still Juan ... and had been updated this year.  His hands trembled as he opened the folder, and thumbnail after thumbnail of pictures ... hundreds of them, appeared on the screen.  His eyes went to the oldest ones.  He sat looking at pictures of himself at 13.  Seeing that small, young face.  His young, half-grown frame, emaciated from the weeks of inadequate food.  He was like a ... baby bird.  Somehow, he hadn't ... realized, just how depraved Miles was to have taken advantage of him, until he saw ... 

Shaking, he sat numbly in front of the computer.  Seeing the pictures ... the bed, the hotel room, brought back the details in a way that he hadn't allowed himself to remember in a long time.  He had chosen to remember the special treatment, the fancy meals, the cultural outings ... now, he remembered how much it had hurt, how Miles had told him that was normal and not to worry about it.  Looking at his younger self, he knew why it hurt.  

 _I was a baby_ , he realized, sadly and with a sickened heart.   _He raped me when I was just a little kid._  Blaine's anger bubbled up inside, much like the day when his foster father had tried to ... tried to ... he closed his eyes.  This time would be different.  He was going to the police, right now, no matter what.  He didn't even care if it led to his own expulsion.  He just wanted the man who killed his childhood to finally pay for it.


	63. Locked Out

Kurt slipped into the bathroom on Blaine's floor, to take a quick shower and rid himself of the uncomfortable stickiness from his earlier romantic escapade.  Even though,  _maybe_ , he might end up needing another one later, he thought hopefully.  But whatever Blaine was comfortable with.  He certainly would never pressure Blaine sexually, and if anything would be extra careful to check in and make sure Blaine was okay with whatever they did together.  He dried off as quickly as possible, and styled his hair without too much fussing.  There was no sense putting in a ton of product right before bed.  Then a quick tooth-brushing and mouthwash.  He hurried, so as to be able to surprise Blaine before he showed up in the bathroom to do his own nighttime routine.

After gathering up his things, he padded down the hall to Blaine's room, and tapped on the door, mentally preparing a saucy, romantic line for when Blaine opened it.  No answer.  He tapped harder, then turned the handle.  Locked.  Hm.

He hesitated ... Blaine wasn't in the bathroom - he had just come from there and it was empty.  Maybe he had gone to the vending machine for a late-night snack?  He set down his clothes and toiletries, and went around the corner, past the common room and toward the vending machines.  But Blaine wasn't there either ... and he wasn't in the common room or at the pay phone.  It was after curfew, so ... where could he have vanished?

Maybe he had on his earbuds and hadn't heard the knocking at the door?  Kurt returned to the dorm room and pounded on the door more loudly.  The light wasn't on under the door, and if Blaine had his earbuds on, the volume must be pretty loud to miss all this banging.  After another moment of hesitation, Kurt pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket and checked it.  A good-night text from Mercedes, another from his Dad.  Nothing else.

 _Where are you, Blaine?_ he wondered.


	64. A Change of Plans

Kurt bit his lip in frustration.  What would have possessed Blaine to vanish at this time of night, without telling anyone where he was going, and with no cellphone?  He banged on the door a final time, hope dwindling but still present, that Blaine was simply engrossed in a video or song and hadn't heard him.  As the sound died away, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the front of the building.  Running footsteps.  It had to be Blaine - - and Kurt turned expectantly, relieved.  But only for a moment, when a red-faced, weeping Oliver appeared in the hallway.  

"Oliver - - what - - I thought you were spending the night with your father," Kurt said, surprised.  

Oliver brushed by him, and put his hand on the doorknob, rattling it.

"Blaine's not in there, and it's locked," Kurt explained, and Oliver reached in his pocket for his key ring, shoving the dorm room key into the knob and then slamming the door open so hard that a picture fell off the wall.  

"Are you okay?" Kurt ventured timidly.  "How'd you get in?"

"My father dropped me off and signed me in at the front desk, the asshole," Oliver stormed, flinging his keys at the wall, before standing in the center of the room, his fists clenched by his sides.

"You're back early from dinner," Kurt observed slowly.  "What happened?  Did you and your father have a fight?"

Oliver sat on the bed, and dropped his head in his hands.  "Something ... terrible happened.  At the restaurant."  

"What was it," Kurt asked, finally.  

Dropping his hands, Oliver shrugged.  "We were waiting to order, when Poppy went to the ladies' room, and ... a man came in.  He - saw me sitting there with my Dad, and - - he went nuts," Oliver said.  "He came over and - he knew my Dad," he continued, crying.  "He said, remember me, Miles?  Jason ... Jason something."

Kurt bit his lip.  "What happened then, Oliver?"

"He - he said - is this your new toy?" Oliver said, grimacing.  "I said no, I'm his son - - and the guy just - - he said, yeah, I know, that's what he always used to make me say too.  And - he went after my dad, hitting him like a million times - he knocked him off his chair - - and Poppy came out and - - the manager came over to break it up.  They dragged the guy out and threw him out - but he said.  He said things.  About what my Dad did to him when he was a kid, and how he wouldn't sit by and let it keep happening."

"He said that?" Kurt said, trying to hide his excitement.  "What happened?  Did the police come?"

"No.  We just left," Oliver said.  "But Poppy - - she heard everything.  And - she went crazy.  She said she was telling mom!  She called Mom and started telling her - and Dad - - he stopped the car on the side of the road and he grabbed the phone and he slapped Poppy across the face  _so hard_ ," Oliver sobbed.  "I heard my mom on the phone calling out for Poppy - - but he took the phone and threw it.  And he shoved Poppy back in the car ... and he took her back to Crawford.  Then he took me here, and - - he made me promise not to tell my mom.  But - Poppy already started telling her something.  She knows something's wrong, and - -"

"Oliver.  Where's your father?" Kurt said suddenly, a feeling of dread coming over him.  "Where, Oliver?"

"I don't know and I don't care.  I wish he was dead," Oliver sobbed.  "I wish I never had to see him again!"

 

* *  * * * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * *

 

Blaine spotted a canvas tote bag set by the door, filled with the research papers submitted by the students in the Music Theory class he and Kurt took together.  He went over and grabbed the handles, upending the papers onto the couch, and shoved the laptop and cord inside.  Looking around, he wondered what else might be hidden away in here.  His eyes fell on the roll-top portion of the antique desk.  Setting the bag on the floor by the desk chair, he placed a hand on the roll-top and pushed, but it didn't budge.  

Pulling the key ring from his pocket, he examined it, finding a few small keys, and tried two in the desk.  The third did the trick, and the desk top rolled back.  Shoving the keys back in his jacket, he started rifling the desk, yanking out the small drawers and emptying them.   Sure enough, the SD cards, and a number of thumb drives, tumbled out of one, and he quickly swept them into the bag.  Another key opened the desk drawer, and he slid it open, to reveal a narrow photo album, yellowed with age.  He took it out and laid it on the desk, flipping it open, then recoiling.  It was filled with lewd photographs of Jason and a much younger, but still adult Miles.  Disgusted, he was about to jam it into the bag with the rest of his find when a sound startled him.  

The faculty houses had ample yards, both back and front, with a service road running along the back lots behind them, and parking spots just behind the house.  And he had heard the unmistakable sound of a slamming car door, from outside the study window.  Turning to look out the back window, he saw a figure running from a Cadillac up to the back door.

He scrabbled at the tote bag and grabbed it, flinging open the study door and making a pell-mell rush through the living room, hoping against hope to outrun whoever was turning the lock in the back door.   But as his hand closed on the doorknob, a gunshot blasted and a bullet whistled past his head into the door beside him.  "Hands up," an all-too-familiar voice commanded him.  "Drop the bag and turn around."

His stomach clenching in fear, he let the bag slip from his hands and land with a dull thud on the carpet beside him.  And turned to face Miles, standing in the living room, pointing his gun at Blaine's chest.  


	65. Starting With You

"Did your dad say where he was going, Oliver," Kurt said insistently, crouching in front of him.  "Please, it's - it's important - - "

"I'd assume home, Kurt, I really don't know!  He was really upset at that Jason guy, and at Poppy - and - and -" Oliver trailed off.

"At who, Oliver," Kurt persisted.  "Who else?"

"At - you and Blaine," Oliver whispered, comprehension dawning.  "Jason - he said that two kids called him and - told him Dad was still - - abusing kids here at school - -"

Kurt felt a chill breeze fluttering the curtains, and looked over to notice, for the first time, that there was a sliver of wood wedged in the window to keep it ajar.  Blaine's trick for getting back into the dorm at night when he sneaked out.  And Blaine had thought Miles would be at the restaurant, and they had been talking about getting more evidence ...

He got up and flung open Blaine's closet door.  Blaine's winter jacket was gone.  He had gone outside.

 _No, Blaine,_ he thought desperately.   _Please ... don't have gone there alone ... please ..._

He ran back into the hallway and grabbed his shoes and socks, pulling them on hurriedly, then quickly threw on his blazer over his pajamas and ran to the back door.  As he opened it, the alarm sounded, but he didn't look backwards - just ran slipping out and onto the pathway leading to Miles' house, as fast as his legs could carry him.  

~ *  *  ~ * * ~

Blaine stood with his back against the door, eyeing Miles warily.  

"Still playing junior detective, I see."  Miles edged closer, and Blaine blinked slightly.  Miles' face was bruised, his shirt torn.   His eyes wild and crazed.  He kept the gun raised, pointed in Blaine's direction, and reached for a crystal decanter of scotch with the other hand.  He tipped off the stopper, and raised it to his lips, taking a long swallow, then coughing and pointing the bottle in Blaine's direction.  "How rude of me.  Want to join me in a drink?"

Blaine shook his head silently.  

"So.  I assume you're here, and have a bagful of my stuff, because you're still out to have me arrested," Miles said, setting the liquor down and taking a few more steps in his direction.  "This is how you repay me, Blaine?"

"Repay you?  For what?"  

Miles laughed.  "Well.  Let's put it this way.  Can you honestly say you'd be better off if I left you in that subway station where I found you?  You've gotten a great education, been safe and well-fed, met your little friend Kurt, all because of me, right?"

Blaine calculated his odds of getting out of this as somewhere between slim and none, if he didn't find a way to somehow placate this man.  He pretended to consider Miles' argument.  "I - I guess you're right about that, Miles ... I ... hadn't thought of it that way lately ... it's just - -"

"That's right!" Miles shouted, suddenly enraged again.  "And do you know what changed?  Kurt!  This all started with Kurt!"

"No - no, I - I don't think so," Blaine backtracked.  No matter what, he couldn't allow this armed nut job to blame Kurt for anything ... he had to calm him down no matter what he had to do.  There was no telling what he might do otherwise.   _He could kill me, and then go after Kurt._  "I - I just guess  you were right, I was being a rebellious teenager, and - -"

"But  _he_ was the reason you wanted to break up with me.  And he's the one who's convinced you to try to get the other boys to - to turn against me too!  Like Jason!"

Blaine gulped, and tried to steady the wild beating of his heart.  "You - know about Jason?"

"You think?  He confronted me in public tonight!   I'm fucking finished as a teacher!  My children hate me, and my wife - - she'll divorce me.  I'll lose my job - and maybe - end up in jail, all because of you two!"

"You - you could run," Blaine said desperately.  "Just - - take off - - and they'd have to catch you to --"

Miles picked up the bottle and flung it at him, and he dodged just in time.  The decanter shattered over his head, raining down alcohol over him, and he crouched down instinctively.  

"Where the hell am I supposed to run?" he screamed.  "But right now ... if it's just Jason coming forward ... maybe I could fight it," he said, breathing heavily.  "If I can keep you quiet- - destroy all the evidence ..." his eyes fell on the bag beside Blaine.  "Throw that over here," he demanded.  

Blaine picked up the bag and swung it over.  Miles picked up the bag and looked inside.  "Thanks for doing most of the work," he commented.  "There's only a few more things I need to get rid of."  He looked up, and cocked the trigger.  "Starting with you."


	66. What Did He Do to You?

"Miles - - Miles, please," Blaine cried out.  "Please don't.  I'll - I'll do anything you say, just - - put down the gun, please!"

The gun trembled in Miles' hand, and he looked sadly over the muzzle at Blaine for a long moment.

 "You're so beautiful," he whispered.  "That was my downfall.  I actually fell in love with you," he said, half laughing and half crying.  "All the others - I lost interest when they - they grew up," he said.  "But ... you're grown up and I still want you.  I still love you.  You could have saved me from - from myself, if you'd only loved me back.  We could have had something real."

Blaine looked into Miles' eyes, trying to convey sympathy, understanding, when all he felt was disgust and hatred and fear.  But he wanted to live.  He wanted to live so bad he would do anything, say anything, to get that gun away from Miles.   "Do you mean that, Miles?" he said, keeping his voice a soft purr, keeping his eyes downcast, looking up through his eyelashes.  He wet his lips slightly.  "I was so hurt when - I found out I wasn't your one and only," he murmured, pitching his voice ever-so-slightly higher, more child-like than usual.  "I didn't know you - thought I was special ... that changes so much."  He inched forward, slowly, keeping his hands where Miles could see them, not making direct eye contact.  "Let's ... sit down and figure out how we can fix all this.  I know we can do it, we've been through so much together."  A few more steps.  He stopped, when Miles retreated a few steps, toward the back door.  

"What will it take for you to trust me, Miles?  How can I show you how I feel?"  

Miles swallowed, and choked out, "Get over here."  

Still moving slowly, Blaine approached Miles, who reached out his free hand and stroked the side of his face, then grabbed a handful of his shirt and dragged him the last few steps, slamming his back against the wall, before pressing his lips against Blaine's mouth.   Terrified, Blaine forced himself to kiss back, open-mouthed, to try to lull Miles into letting go of the gun, but the kiss only deepened.  Miles' kiss grew more insistent, more demanding, and his free hand slipped between them, to unzip Blaine's winter jacket and wind its way inside, around Blaine's waist.

With a shuddering moan, Miles broke away from the kiss and ran his lips down Blaine's neck, and his hand started working at Blaine's belt, slipping it from his pants and flinging it to the side.  "You mean it - you still love me," Miles murmured.  "I knew you did.  I knew it - -say it - -"

Blaine froze.  He opened his mouth, trying to force the words out,  continue this ruse until Miles dropped his guard and he could get the gun away - - but - - but - his terror and revulsion were keeping the words trapped inside- - Miles looked in his eyes and he quailed in fear before the man who had ruled his life for so long - hurt him so much - and - Miles' free hand stilled a moment, before he lifted his gun and pointed it at his head.  "You'll pay for that before I kill you," he said, his face a twisted mask of hatred.  He grabbed Blaine by the hair and snarled, "on your knees."

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Kurt was panting as he raced toward Miles' house, frantic with fear - - and a shot rang out in the distance - coming from the direction of Miles' house.  "Blaine," he gasped, unable to scream.  "My God, Blaine - -" he ran, trying to dial his phone as he ran, but he stumbled, falling full length on the pathway and dropping it in the snow.  He bent and scrabbled at it for agonizing minutes before he found it again, and pressed 911. He cursed when the phone call dropped, stumbling to his feet again and running the last five minutes before reaching the front of the house.  

The lights were on - - and he crept closer, trying to sneak up to a window and look in.  As he rounded the house, trying to find a window he could see in, he reached the back of the house and saw Blaine erupt from the back door, pulling his pants up under his winter jacket and fastening them as he stumbled down the steps.    _What did he do to you, Blaine?_

He called out Blaine's name, rushing around the corner of the house, but Blaine didn't seem to hear him.  He opened the waiting Cadillac with a click of a key pulled from his jacket, and started the car, quickly putting it in reverse.  Kurt ran into the backyard lot, waving his arms, and Blaine stopped the car short, recognizing him.  He raced forward, reaching the passenger side door.  "Blaine!  What happened - - " he asked as Blaine lowered the window.  

"Get in the car," Blaine screamed.  

"Blaine - - "

"Get in!  Get in, we have to go  _now,"_ Blaine insisted, holding out his hand, and after a moment, Kurt jumped in, with Blaine screeching out of the parking area almost before the door was shut.


	67. Past Curfew

An inexperienced driver, Blaine over-corrected the curve in the narrow road; they careened along the shoulder briefly, before Kurt reached over and adjusted the wheel, returning them to the pavement.  "Blaine - you can slow down.  Miles can't catch us now," he said, moving his hand to Blaine's shoulder.  To his dismay, Blaine flinched away, jerking the wheel with him momentarily.  

"Don't touch me," he gasped.  "Don't, Kurt."

"I'm sorry, but you're going too fast!" Kurt cried out.  "Stop and let me drive!  You're too upset!"

Blaine blinked hard, slowing down.    He rounded a curve and emerged onto the drive that ran past their dorm.  He pulled up in front of the building, and put the car in park.  They sat there a moment, both panting heavily, before Blaine's head fell back against the headrest.  His eyes shut, he whispered, "You better go back inside now.  You'd probably better sneak around and get in through the window I left open.  If it's shut, knock on it and Oliver will let you in.  Just tell him ... tell him you didn't see anything, hear anything. There's no reason you need to be involved in this mess."

Kurt ignored the jumble of instructions, and demanded, "What happened in there?  I heard a gunshot!"

"Just one?" Blaine asked.  "The gun went off twice," he said dully.  "You must have been too far away to hear the first one."

"What happened, Blaine?  Tell me,"  Kurt begged. 

Blaine refused to turn and look at him.  "I did what I had to do," he whispered.  "He pulled a gun on me.  He said he was gonna kill me. Once he- -"  Blaine stopped, and covered his face with his arm.  "Once he took what he wanted one last time, and punished me for betraying him," he wailed.

Kurt was overcome with pity, followed by anger.  "He touched you?  Blaine, did he touch you?" 

" _Touch_ me?"  Blaine was quiet for a space, then dropped the arm listlessly and shrugged.  "You could say that."  Tears started rolling down his face, and Kurt could see in the light from the streetlamps in front of the dorm - the starts of bruises, swelling on his face.  

"He hit you," Kurt guessed, reaching out again to gently touch Blaine.  "Your face - -"

Blaine winced, but seemed surprised, then slowly remembered, "Oh.  That must have happened -he had me by the hair.  He - kept banging my face into the - -" Blaine stopped, looking furtively at Kurt. 

"Oh, Blaine ...no," Kurt whispered, crying.

Swallowing hard, Blaine shrugged.  "After ... he got up and pulled his pants back up - - and he wanted me to get dressed and - - he was going to kill me in the hallway by the back door, to look like an intruder. He wanted me to go over there and - - and wait to be executed.  But I managed to grab a bottle of something from the wet bar - - he was passing by me to go by the door - to make it look like he surprised me on the way in - - and I turned around and hit him over the head with it.  I grabbed the gun, but he - wasn't knocked out and he - tried to hold onto it - it went off while we were fighting over it - - and - - then I hit him again with the bottle and he went down that time - - and I ran out."  He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand while Kurt digested this information.  

"Is he dead?" Kurt finally asked.  

"No," Blaine said.  "I - I don't know.  I don't think so.  But my life is over now," he cried.  "This is going to ruin me.  I'm _so_ getting expelled now, and - what will your dad say!  He probably won't let you be with me anymore," he rambled wildly.  "With my record, they - they may charge me as an adult for breaking and entering in the first place, and now - - taking the car ... and I - I don't know what to do.  It wasn't supposed to go like that!"

"Blaine, let's go inside, please," Kurt pleaded.

 

"You're shivering," Blaine said suddenly, looking at Kurt closely.  "You went outside in just that?  Are you - in pajamas?"  He reached out and moved the blazer aside slightly.  "You are!  Kurt, you must be freezing."   He pulled off his jacket and handed it to Kurt.  "Put this on.  I - won't need it."

"Don't say that, Blaine," Kurt said.  

"Go inside, Kurt." 

"Not unless you come in with me," Kurt said.  "We have to talk about this."

Blaine sighed.  "Okay, honey," he said, finally.  "You know I love you, right?"

"I love you too.  We can figure this out, I know we can," Kurt said, relieved. He felt in his pocket for his dorm key and frowned.  His pocket was empty - he must have dropped it when he slipped in the woods near Miles' house.  Well, no harm.  Trent could let him in at some point.  It was going to be a long night, because he was going to convince Blaine to call the police as soon as he had him calmed down enough to see reason.

Blaine opened the car door and got out, and Kurt got out the other side, closest to the sidewalk.  He was still holding Blaine's jacket, and noticed something heavy in the pocket - the gun, he realized with a start.  That was important evidence that Miles had held a gun on Blaine!  It was good that Blaine had secured it, he thought, his mind racing with plans to handle this horrible new development.  

But as he shut the door on his side, Blaine locked the door quickly with the door controls on the other side, and ducked back in, restarting the car with just a push of the automatic starter on the key fob. Kurt grabbed at the handle of the door, but Blaine was already pulling away.

"Blaine!  Don't leave!  We have to call the police and - - Blaine!" Kurt yelled.  The door to the dorm opened and the resident assistant who manned the front desk was standing in the light watching.  

"Hummel!  You're out past curfew!  Get in, I'm writing you up!"

Kurt ignored him, and stood weeping as he watched Blaine speed away, careening over a curb and back onto the roadway, and out the front gate.

 

 


	68. The News

Kurt lay awake in his room, tormented by thoughts of Blaine on the run from the police.  He didn't know what to do ... there was no way to reach Blaine and try to talk some sense into him.  While he realized that Blaine had terrible experiences with the authorities in the past, he just couldn't believe that anyone would blame him for what had happened.  Yes, Blaine had broken into Miles' house, but under the circumstances, surely that would be overlooked!  Miles was a rapist and a child molester, and Blaine was just looking for evidence, not to steal anything.  And the car - Blaine had been raped, and was about to be murdered, by that psychopath.  How could anyone blame him for taking the car to escape?

He got up early and took a shower, making sure to take his phone with him and set it right outside the stall, just in case Blaine should decide to call and check in.  

He didn't.

Plodding to class, he sat in his seat, exhausted and wrung out emotionally.  Ms. Holiday called on him, asking him a softball question, and he simply shrugged.  

"You haven't been paying attention all period, Kurt.  Stay after class, please?" she said, kind but firm.

When the bell rang, he remained in his seat, and Holly sat down at the desk next to him.  "So.  Is this still about your friend with the problem?" she asked.  "Are you ready to talk about it?"

He glanced at this bird-like creature.  So kind.  So soft and delicate.  She couldn't comprehend the brutality that someone like Miles, a fellow teacher, could inflict on anyone.  She probably imagined he was talking about some normal problem, one that maybe she could help with.  "No," he answered.  "It's too late to help him now."  He got up and slouched his way out the door.

Walking along the hallway, he realized, the next class was Music Theory.  Miles' class.  He would have to look at Miles and know what he did to Blaine last night. He would have to sit there, keeping Blaine's secret, and - -  

He stopped dead in the hallway, causing a minor pileup of blue blazers.   Hit by a sudden, agonizing realization.

If he had gone against Blaine's wishes - risked losing him as a boyfriend or friend - and done what he always knew was the right thing, and report Miles to the police or Ms. Holiday or his father, or anyone, then.  Maybe Blaine wouldn't have been raped last night.  Maybe he wouldn't have run away.  Maybe everything that happened could have been avoided.  He shut his eyes and leaned against the wall, overcome with guilt.  "I did this to you, Blaine," he whispered, tears filling his eyes.

A hand clapped on his shoulder, and he jumped.  Turning, he came face to face with Wes.

"So.  I assume you know about the news."

Kurt blinked, and wiped his eyes.  Wes had a first period class with Blaine, and no doubt rumors were already circulating about Blaine being gone.  "About - about Blaine?" he ventured.  

"No ... about Poppy's father," Wes said, scrutinizing him closely.  "Someone killed him last night."


	69. Investigation

"Poppy called me this morning.  She went to her parents' house and found him there."

"In - the study?" Kurt asked stupidly.

"That's the part you think is important?" Wes said.  "Poppy is devastated.  She had to see her father's dead body.  She said there was blood everywhere.  I don't know how she's going to recover from this."

"I - - I - -"

"Poppy thinks it must be a former student of his.  Jason Baker.  He attacked Miles at a restaurant last night."

Kurt went white, and stammered, "What do the police think?"

Wes shrugged.  "I don't know.  They questioned Poppy already.  They're going to question Oliver too.  I understand they went to the dorm to ask him some questions about what happened with Baker at the restaurant."

"They - they're going to talk to Oliver?" Kurt asked, sweating now.  

"Probably already have," Wes said, as a commotion began to be heard down the hallway.  "What's going on," he murmured, looking around Kurt.  Kurt turned.  

A pair of men wearing rumpled-looking suits, and with badges pinned to their coats, were coming down the hallway accompanied by the Dean.  As Kurt stood frozen with horror, the Dean pointed toward him and Wes, and one of the men nodded.  And began walking toward them.  


	70. Detectives

"Mr. Hummel," the Dean called.  "Can you come here a moment?"

Kurt walked toward the group, his feet feeling like lead weights, Wes at his elbow.  "Yes, ma'am?"

"Detective Carter, Detective Green ... this is Kurt Hummel," the Dean said, and then nodded to Wes.  "And Wes Leung."

"I'm Poppy Stevens' boyfriend," Wes cut in.  "Anything I can do to help with the investigation, detectives, please let me know."

"Sure thing, kid," Detective Carter responded.  Wes started to back away, but Carter acted as if he had just remembered something, and raised a hand to call him back. "There is one thing ... unimportant really, but for our report, we'd like to just confirm. "Your name just came up in a related context when we were questioning people this morning at the dorm.  You're one of the dorm monitors, right?  You check on the students at ..." he glanced at a small notebook in his hand.  "9:10 to 9:20, is that accurate?"

Wes nodded.  "David Makin and I share that responsibility."

"I also understand that you checked off that all the students were in their beds last night, accounted for.  At least that's what you put on your checklist." The detective brandished a piece of paper with a series of check-marks on it. "The Resident Director made this copy for me. Would you like to look at it and refresh your recollection?"

Wes took the paper and glanced at it, then looked back and forth between the detectives.  "I'm not sure what you're driving at ..."

"It's just that when we questioned Oliver Stevens, he told us that three students, including himself, were  _not_ in their beds at lights out last night.  That seems to present a discrepancy."

Kurt shrank back, fully aware that Detective Green, a sharp-eyed middle-aged detective, was watching him closely for his reaction.  

"I - I'm ... well.  Oliver was out with his father, so ... I guess I may have checked him off automatically.  He wasn't supposed to return to the dorm that night, so.  That was an error."

"What about Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel?  Did you personally see them in their rooms at checkout, or was that just another automatic check-off?"

Wes looked confused for a moment, then shook his head.  "Actually ... now that you mention it.  Trent Barnes was the one who told me Kurt was asleep in his bed when I came around for checks.  So no, I didn't see him at lights out.  And Blaine," he looked embarrassed.  "He told me he was turning in early and would be asleep at lights out.  I didn't see any reason to go down there and check on him.  He's an exemplary student - -"

Detective Carter cut him off.  "Did you ever hear of any ... animosity between Mr. Hummel here or Mr. Anderson, and Mr. Stevens?"

Wes looked troubled.  "Well.  Yes, but that was about simple club business only," he said reluctantly.  

"Isn't it true that you and Oliver heard Kurt here threaten Mr. Stevens' life?"

Kurt panicked, backing up against the nearby wall, and Wes looked over at him helplessly.  "I - I'm sorry, Kurt - -"  he paused.  "Yes.  Yes, I heard him say that, but it was weeks ago, and it was about ... Kurt said ... it was about a paper.  That it wasn't a serious threat. And Mr. Stevens agreed, he wasn't concerned about it."

"Okay, Mr. Leung.  We may have some more questions for you, and we may need you to make a statement at some point, but we're primarily here to speak to Mr. Hummel," Detective Carter said.  "I'll just take your cell phone number, if you don't mind."

Wes gave the number, and Detective Carter scrawled it down in his pad, then dismissed Wes with a jerk of his head.

The Dean had been watching with growing concern, and as Detective Green turned to Kurt, she interrupted.  "Detective, if I might have a word ..."

"Yes, ma'am?" Detective Green answered politely.  

"It's just - - I think we had better call Kurt's father before any further questioning occurs."

"Ma'am, this is just routine background," Detective Green said smoothly.  "It's not necessary to involve the boy's father.  And you had no problem with our questioning Mr. Leung, so ..."

"That was different," the Dean said, hesitantly.  "Wes is 18, and Kurt is only 16.  He really should have a parent involved in any questioning by the police."

"If Kurt wants to talk to us, off-the-record of course, there's no reason he can't," Detective Green persisted.  "You don't mind, right, Kurt?  There's no reason for your Dad to be called.  We already know you weren't really in your room last night at lights-out ... and that you were dropped off in front of the dorm at about 10:00 p.m. by a ..." he consulted his pad.  "A late-model Cadillac ATS-V coupe.  Silver, with an Ohio license plate number GHY 567.  I'm sure we can ask a few questions without dragging your Dad out of work to come hear about where you were, unless ... " he trailed off, eyeing Kurt expectantly.   

"I want my Dad," Kurt said, shakily.  


	71. Tell You Everything

Kurt sat in a stale-smelling, overly warm room with no windows, just a two-way mirror and an austere table-and-chair set, for over an hour before his Dad showed up, winded, and with a lawyer in tow.  

"Dad," Kurt cried out, getting up and rushing into his father's arms.  

"It's okay, Kiddo.  I'm here to take you home," Burt said reassuringly.  "This is Marie O'Connor ... she's a criminal lawyer, and she's here to help us take care of whatever this is.  Can you tell me ... what the heck is going on?  All I got was that one of your teachers was killed, and the police are questioning you about it?"

"Hi, Kurt," Marie said.  She was a tall woman with straight red hair framing her face, and bright green glass frames and power suit.  She put out her hand to shake his.  "Let's sit down a minute."

The three of them sat down, and Kurt looked at the two-way mirror. "Are ... they watching us now?"

"No, Kurt.  They can only watch through that when they're questioning you.  They can't watch you with your parent or lawyer," Marie said.  "But from what I gathered from talking to the detectives on the way up here ... there's a lot that looks ... iffy here.  Like the fact that you sneaked out of your dorm last night, and came back in a car registered to a man who was murdered on campus."

Kurt looked down at his hands, twisting them helplessly.  "I know that looks bad, but there's a legitimate explanation for all of it.  Really."

"Start talking, kiddo," Burt said grimly.  

He started talking ... beginning with the first time he saw Blaine with Miles, continuing all the way until last night.  And at the end of the long, bizarre story, he finished, "So that's it.  Blaine drove away in that car ... and I haven't heard from him since."

"Kurt.  Do you really believe any of that story Blaine told you?" Burt demanded.  "He broke into that house, and he killed that teacher.  And now he's nowhere to be found - -"  

"Weren't you listening?  He was raped last night, and nearly killed!  He was - he was traumatized!  He was just trying to - to get away from Miles.  That's all."

Marie and Burt looked at each other dubiously.  "Kurt, I think if you agree to testify against Blaine, the police will look a lot more kindly on you," Marie said.  "Maybe even give you immunity, especially if this molestation thing pans out as true, and if you had no hand in the actual killing."

"Of course I didn't have anything to do with killing him," Kurt said.  Then he paused.  "Wait.  What do you mean, testify  _against_ him?"

"Kurt, you must realize how this looks.  Blaine himself admitted he hit Miles Stevens hard enough to knock him out."

"Because the man was about to kill him!   And he didn't mean for Miles to die!  I'm sure he didn't!"

Burt slammed his hand down on the table.  "Enough, Kurt!  If it was self-defense, an accident, then why didn't Blaine go to the police right away?"

"Because he's been victimized his whole life!  He - he doesn't trust the police, or any adults!  I'm the only one he trusts, and ... I'm not cutting any deals if it means saying something against him!"

"You're being played for a fool, Kurt.  He's dragged you into this mess and now he's not here, and you're left holding the bag!"  Burt erupted.  "Now you're  _going_ to let Marie try to work out a deal for you!"

"No I'm not!  Blaine didn't do anything wrong.  I plan on telling the police the whole story.  Then they'll understand Blaine is innocent."

"Kurt," Marie said, trying to defuse the situation.  "If we don't work out a deal first, I don't recommend talking to the police at all.  You're only making it easier for them to place you at the scene of the crime, the more you talk - -"

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Marie put her finger to her lips, before rising and going to the door.  "We're not quite finished in here," she told Detective Green, waiting outside.

"I know I told you we might be able to work something out if he talked, Marie.  But I think it's fair to let your client know.  We won't need much help from him for much longer."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Burt demanded.  

"We got a warrant to search your room at school, Kurt," Detective Green said.  "I think you know what we found there."

Kurt went pale.  "The gun," he whispered.  

"That's right!" Detective Green said.  "And you were placed in a stolen vehicle belonging to the victim last night.  We have more than enough to book you.  Marie, let's make this easy.  Get your client to start talking, and we can work on a deal."

"Even if he had the gun, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for that," Marie said casually.   Kurt had just told her that Blaine had left it in his jacket, but you would never guess that she had any information one way or another, or thought the matter was of any importance, by her blase demeanor. "You can't place him at the scene, so - -"

"Really?"  Detective Green smirked.  "One of the detectives found this by the Stevens' house."  

He held up the Burberry printed key chain with Kurt's initials on it.  "Your dorm key.  Makes me think you probably were there pretty recently.  The dorm director said you haven't had it replaced yet."

"So he had a spare made before he lost that one.  So what?  Sean, you've got nothing," Marie said.  

Detective Green went toe to toe with Marie, shouting,"I have a dead victim - - an upstanding member of the community, a teacher -"

Kurt stood up and slammed the chair against the wall.  "Enough!  I didn't do anything wrong and neither did Blaine!  I want to talk!  I want to tell you about your so-called  _victim_.  I want to tell you  _everything!"_


	72. Pressure

"If he wants to talk to us, then - -"

"He's a minor," Burt said gruffly.  "I don't consent to you talking to him or questioning him - -"

"Burt --" Marie tried to intervene, but Detective Green cut her off.

"That's your right, sir, but keep in mind: I already have your son dead to rights on possession of a stolen firearm. He's sixteen.  That means he could be tried as an adult for that.  If he ends up charged with murder for his involvement in Miles Stevens' death, then adult offender status is _mandatory_ in this state, and a lack of cooperation won't help him at the sentencing or plea bargain stage." He looked at Marie.  "Your lawyer will tell you the same."  

Marie nodded reluctantly.  "Kurt, that's true.  If you're charged with murder - it'll be as an adult.  That's the law in Ohio.  And even if you only get charged with a non-violent crime - there's no guarantee you'll be given youthful offender status at 16."

The detective softened his voice.  "Mr. Hummel, I have all sympathy for your son's situation.  I have a son myself.  And let's all be real ... anybody can see this Blaine Anderson is the main perpetrator, so -"

"That's not true!" Kurt insisted.  "He's the victim, not the perpetrator!"

"That's not for you to decide,"  Detective Green pointed out.  "It's for a jury.  And there's something else you should probably know.  We ran the fingerprints picked up from the gun, and one set belongs to a youthful offender named Juan Santos, not Blaine Anderson."  He held up a printout.  "Here's the mug shot.  Look familiar?"

Kurt looked at the picture of a terrified, very young Blaine in profile and front view.  

"Yes.  That's Blaine.  I knew his real name, that he's been in trouble with the law - - he told me all of that."

"He has a record for assault with a deadly weapon," Detective Green said.  "Did he mention that?"

"I know all about Blaine's past.  He has a _juvenile_ record - and he was only a baby.  Look at the picture, for God's sake, he was just twelve years old.  And he was defending himself last time, too."

"Oh, Kurt, c'mon!  I thought you were smarter than that," Burt moaned.  

Kurt studied him.  "I thought _you_ were more _compassionate_ than that."

Burt set his mouth in a thin line, and leaned in closer to Kurt.  "This isn't about compassion at this point, Kurt.  I get that Blaine's had it rough, but you have no idea what kind of trouble you're in.  Buddy.  You can't afford a criminal record, you definitely can't survive jail.  You know that.  Please, just - listen to Marie.  Get a deal before you say anything.

"I want to tell them the truth!" Kurt said, frustrated.  "This entire mess happened because I kept my mouth shut when I shouldn't have!  If I'd told on Miles in the first place, then  _he_ would be the one sitting in this chair answering for his crimes."

"That ship has kinda sailed, pal," Burt said, urgently. "Now you're on the hot seat - and you'd better start realizing how much trouble you could catch from this."

"Sean, can we at least get the D.A. down here, so we can start putting some kind of deal together for Kurt?" Marie said, putting a hand on Detective Green's arm.  "Look.  You catch more flies, right?  And you said it yourself- - it's Anderson you want.  Not this kid, c'mon."  She inclined her head toward Kurt.  "You know he only was a follower, at worst.  Anderson's the bad apple."

Detective Green eyed Kurt, from the top of his swooping hair, to the bottom of his wing-tip shoes.  He tightened his lips and nodded.  "I'll get the D.A. to come down," Detective Green said.  "But that'll only buy you a few minutes."  He stomped out, and Marie turned back to the Hummels.

"Kurt, you need to listen to me.  Say nothing until we get you immunity on all charges.  I know you want to help Blaine, but think.  You may be hurting him more by talking - you'll give away that he was inside the house - that he had Miles' gun.  Do you see that anything the police get they will use against _both_ of you - and the end result may be  _both_ of you in jail.  Is that what you want?"

Kurt turned and leaned his head on the two-way glass.  "I just want somebody to listen to me.  I know he didn't shoot Miles.  I know it.  So that gun won't matter one way or another."

The silence that followed was broken by a ring-tone and a strange phone number with a 513 area code. He glanced up at Burt, who nodded. "Answer it, Kurt."


	73. In Trouble

Blaine limped from the elevator into the hospital lobby.  He could barely see from one eye, and even with pain medication, it hurt to walk after ... after what had happened.  But it was bearable now.  

He was lucky he had found this hospital last night by pure chance.  He had driven as long as he could bear the pain and bleeding, but it had frightened him when it continued, staining his pants and the Cadillac's driver seat.  Finally, it was too much to focus on the road, and when he entered the Cincinnati center limits, he had broken down and gone into this major medical center, limping into the emergency department.  

The emergency room doctor had been concerned, of course.  By his battered face, his rectal injury, his bruises all over.  There had been no point in trying to pretend this was just some consensual rough sex accident, and he had been too tired and in too much pain to really think of a believable story anyway.  He admitted that someone had hurt him, but refused to tell the doctors or the police who showed up, anything more.  If he gave Miles' name ... then he might get in trouble himself.  No.  He had to just get away before he ended up in jail again.  

But the doctors and police convinced him to endure a forensic rape examination, complete with humiliating pictures.  Then the colorectal surgeon came to see and examine him, recommending a surgical procedure to close the tears.  He was reluctant at first - - it would mean staying overnight - - but the pain and bleeding were bad enough that he finally had to agree.  He couldn't get away if he was bleeding and torn up like that.  But as soon as he finished the liquid breakfast he was given the next morning, he insisted on leaving. 

The doctor had wanted him to stay longer, but he had signed himself out AMA with a promise to see his regular doctor that he had no intention of keeping, at least not until he figured out what to do now.  Where to go, how to take care of himself.   First thing would be getting some cash, then maybe a bus ticket back to New York where he at least knew his way around.  He'd need new clothes, obviously. The hospital gave him some sweatpants and a sweatshirt, a pair of cheap Keds and a hoodie, but the police had taken his bloody clothes as evidence. His new ensemble wasn't really warm enough. And he had to walk for now, in the cold outside. He figured the cops would be looking for the car by now ... so he'd better either figure out a way to change the license plate, or find another mode of transportation.

But his heart tugged with pain as bad as any in his body, missing Kurt.  Knowing Kurt was probably worried sick about him.  He had to let him know he was okay.  But how? 

He walked out of the hospital onto the busy sidewalk, pulling up the hood both for warmth and to obscure his head and face. He looked uncertainly left and right, then started to limp along with the traffic flow.  After a few minutes, he saw a likely mark pass him - - an annoyed, arrogant-faced man in an expensive suit shouting into a cellphone.  He pivoted and started following at a distance, watching until the man slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, and then stopped at a street vendor to buy an egg-and-bacon sandwich on a hard roll.  Blaine headed up the street a ways and then started back again, timing his walk to brush against the man going the other way, and patting him on the arm in apology.  

Quickly ducking into a pharmacy, he took out the wallet and was rewarded with about two hundred dollars in cash.  There were business cards in the wallet, and he took one for the man's address, along with $150 of the cash.  Sometime, when he could, he'd send the money back.  But he needed the money a lot more right now.  He went to the front desk and smiled at the counterperson.  "I found this on the ground outside," he said smoothly.  "Maybe you could take care of it?"  He handed the wallet, containing the businessman's drivers license, credit cards, and pictures.

"Sure.... hey, are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm - I'm fine.  Thanks," Blaine said hurriedly, placing a protein water on the counter.  The doctor had said no solids for a few days, until his stitches healed.  He left sipping the water, and flipped the phone on.  He needed to make it fast and then ditch this hot phone immediately ... he called Kurt's phone, feeling his spirits rise at the prospect of hearing his sweet voice.

"Hello?"

"Kurt?  It's me, Blaine - -"

There was a rustle on the other end, and a different voice came on.  "Blaine.  This is Burt Hummel.  Wherever you've run off to - I need you to get back here right now.  Kurt is in trouble."


	74. Somebody

"What happened to Kurt?" Blaine cried out, terrified.  "Is he hurt?"

"He's not hurt, but like I said, he's in a lot of trouble.  We're at the Westerville Police Station.  A witness saw him in the Mercedes you stole last night - and the police found the gun you stole in his possession."

"Oh no," Blaine moaned.  "I - I can tell the police that was my fault.  Is - is Mr. Stevens pressing charges about the gun and car?" he asked, confused and surprised.  He didn't think Miles would have reported Kurt for that ... unless it was a way for Miles to flush Blaine out of hiding?  "How did Miles know Kurt was even there?" Blaine asked, bewildered.

"Blaine. Listen to me.  Miles is dead.  Kurt is being questioned in his murder."

"What -- Miles - Miles died?" Blaine cried out, clutching his stomach.  It felt like he had been punched in the gut.  "He died?"  

"Blaine!  Stay with me - - listen carefully - -"

Blaine dropped the phone.  Miles was dead. Dead.   _He must have been hurt more than I realized, when I hit him ..._

That meant he had ... he had killed someone.  He killed Miles.  It was an accident ... he hadn't meant to hit him to kill him, just ... just to stop him from ... pulling the trigger.  He didn't mean to kill him.  

The air around him seemed thick like syrup, like he was swimming through it.  Like everything was slowing down, blurred and indistinct.  Miles was dead, and he had caused it.  He felt so many things all at once - fear, horror ... and ... sorrow?   _Miles, why ... why did you force me to do that to you?  Why didn't you just ... let me go ... agree to get help ... maybe this could have been avoided._  Now Miles was dead and his own life was as good as over too.

The phone was squawking at his feet, and he numbly picked it up.  

"Tell Kurt not to say anything," he interrupted Burt's tirade.  "Tell him I'm coming."

He clicked off the phone and tossed it in a nearby trash can, then started down the street, scanning desperately, back and forth, until he saw what he was looking for.  

Two policemen, standing with their hands warming around coffee cups outside a deli.  He approached, terrified and reluctant, but there was no other way.  Kurt needed him to tell the truth.  He stood, speechless and frightened, in front of the two officers.

"You okay, kid?" one of them said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I killed somebody."

 


	75. Namely Kurt

 

Blaine was exhausted by the time he arrived at the station.  His pain medication was wearing off, and he was aching for a drink to take the edge off.  The officer opened the door to the squad car and ordered him out, and he stiffly clambered through, with the officer none-too-gently yanking on his arm.  

"C'mon, Juan.  Let's move it," he said gruffly.  Blaine kept silent, and allowed himself to be propelled by one shoulder into the station, his hands in too-tight cuffs behind him.  He was ushered in to a squad room filled with detectives, and stopped in front of a desk.  "You Detective Carter?"  

"Yeah.  You got our suspect there?"

"Yep.  And you're welcome to the paperwork," the officer responded.  He unlocked the handcuffs and put them on his belt.  "Oh.  By the way, Mr. Santos here was the subject of another incident last night.  Our Special Victims Unit was over at Cincinnati Memorial based on a report of a sexual assault of a minor.  Here's the file on that.  Work out with SVU in Cincinnati who's taking over that file, if anybody."  He flung a folder on the desk, and its contents spilled out.  Blaine looked dully at the close-up pictures of his injuries, splayed out for everyone to see.  He was beyond shame at this point, and he knew quite well that once he got to jail, adult jail this time, his nightmare would begin in earnest.  This humiliation would seem like a day at the spa then.

"We'll handle it," Detective Carter said, gathering up the pictures and shoving them back in the folder.  "But first, let's have a little talk about you, Kurt Hummel, and Miles Stevens.  Shall we?"  He gestured toward a hallway, and Blaine nodded.  As he went down the hallway, Detective Carter at his elbow, he glimpsed Kurt through an open doorway - - and Kurt leaped up and started toward him.

Blaine's heart broke when Detective Carter quickly grabbed the door handle and slammed the door shut, just before Kurt reached it.  "We'll be talking to you for a while first.  Your buddy in there already gave us most of what we need to put you away, but.  I'm willing to listen to what you have to say."

The detective pointed to a room next to the one Kurt had been in.  "There.  Take a seat."

Blaine looked at the hard metal chairs, and bit his lip.  "Can I - can I stand up?"

"Suit yourself, but this is going to be a while."

He hesitated, then balanced on the edge of the chair as best he could, avoiding pressure on his bottom.  He was so sore, and it was getting worse.  

"So.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.  You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have your lawyer present with you while you are being questioned.  If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning, if you wish.  If you give up your right to remain silent, and later wish to stop answering questions, no further questions will be asked." 

Detective Carter leaned back.  "Do you understand these rights as I have just read them to you?"

Blaine glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room.  "Yes, sir."

"Do you agree to proceed without a lawyer?"

He shifted in his seat, and nodded.  

"Okay.  Then let's get started.  We have reason to believe you were at the residence of Miles Stevens last night, along with Kurt Hummel."

"No - no, Kurt didn't come with me.  He didn't know anything about it."

Detective Carter drummed on the tabletop.  "We're not off to a great start, here. . . Blaine, is it?  That's what you're calling yourself these days?  Or do you prefer Juan?"

"It's Blaine.  But I'm telling the truth.  I went there alone."

Detective Carter nodded, then left the room abruptly.  After a few moments, he returned, carrying a cardboard box.  He set it on the floor, then withdrew something, flinging it on the table.

It was Kurt's key ring, the one he'd made for Kurt in rehab.

"This was at the scene."

"But ... I don't know how that got in the house ..." Blaine said, confused.  "That's not possible.  Kurt never went in the house."

"So you admit he was at the house?"

"I - I - no, he - - I went there by myself," Blaine said stubbornly.  "Kurt went up to his room before lights out.  I went out and walked to Miles' house.  I thought he'd be out, and he was out when I got there."

"Why did you go there, then, and at night?"

"I wanted to go in the house and look for information.  About me and Mr. Stevens.  I - he - we had an inappropriate relationship.  He - was abusing me  - for a long time.  And I was trying to get him to stop, and let me just ... be with Kurt.  I thought if I could find evidence of what he was doing to me, then - I could go to the police for help."

"I see.  So ... you broke into the house."

"I used a key.  My roommate is Mr. Stevens' son, and he left the key there."

"So that's why there's no sign of forced entry," Detective Carter remarked.  "Makes sense.  Go on."

"I went in, and - I went in his den."

"So you were in the study - the back room," Detective Carter repeated, as if this was important somehow.  Blaine frowned, and shifted again.  The pain was getting unbearable.  

"Yes.  I went in there, and I opened his computer and - found a lot of pictures.  Dirty pictures of me - and other boys.  I - was going to take it and bring it to the police.  And some SD cards and thumb drives with pictures."

"Do you have those items with you?"

"No - I didn't have a chance to take them.  Miles came home, and ... we had a confrontation.  He - he shot at me, and left a bullet in the front door next to my head.  Then.  He."

Blaine swayed in his seat.  He felt some dampness ... as if the wounds were leaking ... he recalled vaguely that the colorectal surgeon had warned him there might be some drainage.  He started sweating, and held on to the table with both hands to steady himself.  He had to get through this confession.  Kurt needed him to tell the truth, to clear him of any involvement.  

"He forced me to - - he had the gun.  He made me get on the floor, and he raped me there."

The detective's face flickered for a moment, but then remained impassive.  

"I gave a statement about ... the details, at the hospital.  I was at the hospital in Cincinnati last night.  Can I ... skip ahead?"

"Sure.  We have that file here," Detective Carter said, leaning forward.  

"Well.  Miles knew he was going to get in a lot of trouble, because ... one of the other boys had confronted him.  Well, he's grown up now.  Jason Baker.  Me and Kurt, we'd asked him to come forward and back me up about what was going on, that Miles was blackmailing boys into ... having sex with him.  He's been doing it for a long time."

"How did you know that Jason Baker had confronted Mr. Stevens?"

"Miles told me that when he came in. He was mad, and scared -- so he wanted to get rid of the evidence.  Including.  Including me.  He told me to go by the back door, and.  He was going to go and shoot me, make it look like he thought I was an intruder.  I guess he was going to get rid of the computer and all that stuff afterwards, and then call the police.  I don't know.  But I grabbed a big bottle of scotch from the wet bar and I hit him - I hit him twice and got the gun away.  And I ran.  I - didn't know he was dead when I left.  I thought he was just stunned.  I took his car and drove away."

"With Kurt," Detective Carter supplied.

"Well.  I - - "

"Blaine.  You were seen dropping him off by your resident assistant.  Kyle Martin.  You know him, yes?"

Blaine nodded.  "Well, then.  Yes.  Kurt showed up then.  But he didn't see anything or have anything to do with it.  I just took him back to the dorm and left him there."

"I take it you know Miles was found dead at the house this morning."

"I didn't know when he was found, but ... I guess he ... must have been more hurt than I realized.  It was an accident - I was just defending myself, sir - - I didn't mean to kill him.  I swear.  All I could think about was getting away from him - and I was afraid he'd make it look like I was the one in the wrong."

"I see."  Detective Carter sat a moment in silence.  "You know.  Your story doesn't add up.  And I think you're covering for someone.  Namely Kurt."

 


	76. Let Him Go

"What are you talking about?" Blaine exclaimed.  "Kurt - he had nothing to do with this.  I'm the one who hit Miles.  It was self-defense.  Kurt wasn't in the house at all."

"Let me show you something, okay? We'll cut to the chase."

Detective Carter took out a file and removed some 8 x 10 photographs, spreading them out in front of Blaine.  

They were various angles of Miles' body.  With his head blasted nearly in pieces, slumped over his desk.

He picked up the picture and stared at it.  "I - I - "

"Want to try one more time, and this time the truth.  Either you or Kurt Hummel shot Miles Stevens in his study.  Which of you was it, and why?"

"Neither of us did this!" Blaine cried out.  "I swear to God!  I hit him, yes, but - we were in the - the foyer thing by the back door!  The gun went off - it went off but it didn't hit either me or Miles.  I took it with me - - " he stopped.

"So where's the gun now, then?  So we can run ballistics on it and check your story?"

Blaine started sweating more heavily.  He was so confused.  How had Miles been shot?  How?  Who had done it?  

"I - I don't know.  It must have been someone else.  Jason Baker?  They confronted each other in the restaurant ... maybe - maybe he came to the house after and - -"

"Interesting theory.  Poppy Stevens thought so too.  But he has an airtight alibi.  After he got thrown out of the restaurant, he went down the street and got drunk and disorderly.  The police took him to county and he was drying out in a holding cell all night."

Blaine looked at the pictures, mystified.  

"Care to try again?"

"I - don't know.  But I didn't do it and neither did Kurt."

Detective Carter tapped the edge of his folder on the table.  "What if I told you.  That the gun we recovered from Kurt had been fired four times, not two?"

"I - well, maybe Miles fired it sometime before.  But there were only two bullets fired."

"So the gun had four shells in it when you took it from Miles?  You're certain it wasn't used to kill Miles?"

Blaine felt something trickling down his leg.  He was so tired.  What had happened?  What was going on?  He rested his head tiredly on his hand and stared at the pictures.  Someone had sneaked up on Miles and shot him in the back of the head.  Who was it?  Who?

"I don't know how many bullets were in it," Blaine said, his head drooping.  "I don't know.  I feel like I'm going to be sick.  I had surgery last night.  I - I think I need a drink of water - -"

"You can have one when we're done," Detective Carter said firmly.  "Tell me how many bullets were in the gun, Blaine."

"I don't know!"

"Is it possible Kurt sneaked out again and shot Miles after you left?" Detective Carter asked.  "Was he angry when he found out you'd been raped?"

"I - I don't know ... but ... he didn't do it," Blaine whispered.  

"What if I told you that gun had only two bullets in it when we found it, Blaine?  And that ballistics showed the bullets were recently fired. What then?  Is it possible Kurt went back there to punish Miles?"

"No!" Blaine sobbed.  "If - if there were only two - - and it's true what you said about the bullets - - then - -" he looked at the pictures.  "I don't understand ..." Had Kurt ... had he ...  _could he have?_

But if he did ... then it was to protect him.  It was because he loved Blaine, and ... and Kurt would die if he went to prison.  He wouldn't last five minutes in there.  And it was Blaine's fault all of this happened. There was no way he would let that happen.  He dropped the pictures.

"Then - then I did it.  I shot him before I ran out.  I lied before.  I did it.  I did.  Kurt has nothing to do with it.  Let him go.  He's innocent, and I did it," he sobbed.  "Just let Kurt go."


	77. Clearly Innocent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is a departure because it is not written from either Kurt's or Blaine's point of view, because neither of them are there for this scene. :)

A balding, bespectacled attorney, Bob Steinberg, leaned back in his chair.  "So.  We have a confession, though it's a bit dubious.   You lied to that boy about the ballistics report."

"A confession's a confession," Detective Carter said.  "We're allowed to mislead a suspect, if it helps get a confession.  We just nudged it out of him."

"You also took that great confession from a teenage boy, who was clearly sick and confused," Steinberg remarked, looking at the tape.  

"So what? We sent him to medical afterwards.  His stitches were a little loose, but he'll be fine."

"So what, is I need more than just that bullshit confession.  Does the murder charge hold water independent of that?  Because I'm not confident charging him with murder one based on that."

"What the hell are you talking about, Bob?" Detective Green asked, irritably.  "The kid is a con artist.  Got into that fancy school under a fake name.  He has a record of assault.  And he confessed to shooting that guy in the back of the head.  No kid like that does that unless he knows he's been caught dead to rights. What more do you even need?"

Steinberg looked at the folder containing the rape investigation photos.  "These show he was raped.  By Stevens.  Doesn't that bother you?"

"Well.  Maybe he was raped, maybe he wasn't.  He never named Stevens as his attacker."

"The forensics are back on this from the coroner.  I had a rush put on it.  It _was_  Stevens' semen in his rectum.  That didn't get there by itself."

Detective Green shrugged.  "They were lovers.  The kid admitted as much."

"You think this was something that happens between two lovers?" Steinberg asked, disbelieving.  "Look at this trauma."

"You know those guys.  They're ... into all that."

"Gay guys, you mean?" Steinberg asked, coldly.  "You know my son is gay."

"Sorry, but.  If you're worried it was in self-defense, that's bull too.  Sure, it's possible he raped the kid.  Then the kid got mad and killed him after the danger was already over, when he was sitting there with his back turned.  Self-defense requires imminent danger, you know that."

"Still.  After being brutally raped ... I don't know.  I just.  This doesn't add up for me.  I don't like that confession, I don't like the facts ... it doesn't make sense."

"Well, what the hell else do you want?  We delivered you a signed confession," Detective Carter shouted.  "Just charge him with something, for Chrissakes."

"For one thing... look at these photographs," Steinberg said. "You see anything off?"

Detective Green looked at the picture.  "I see the two cartridges found in the foyer," he said reluctantly.  

"How long are they?" 

"Well.  According to the ruler next to them, they're 33 mm.  So they ... were shot by a .357 Magnum."

"That's what was recovered from Kurt Hummel's room, true?"

"Yeah ... so ..."

"Well these were the ones recovered from the study.  Six of them.  29 mm casing.  They couldn't have been fired from that gun.  They could only be fired from a .38."

"Yeah.  But the 33 mm casings could have come from the same gun that fired those ones in the study, Bob, even if they're a different size.  Or maybe it was two guns.  I don't know until we get the ballistics report back. But all this means is we don't have the murder weapon, but when we get the car here from the impound, we may still find it.  Or we might be able to get Santos to admit where he stashed it."

There was a knock on the door.  "Mr. Steinberg?"  a young attorney stuck her head in.  "Those cellphone records you subpoenaed came in."

"Thanks, Carol.  Let me see those."

"Look, whatever you want to charge that kid with - if you want to cut him a break because he was being nailed by that guy, or whatever, then that's up to you.  We have other cases.  C'mon, Sean."

Steinberg looked up.  "Based on these records, you still have this case to solve." He held up the phone records.  "Miles Stevens was on the phone with his wife while Blaine Anderson was in Cincinnati Medical Center.  For over half an hour."

The detectives looked at each other, embarrassed.

"Have you two talked to the grieving widow?" Steinberg asked.  "Where is she, anyway?  Wasn't she due back this morning?"

"We'll ... we'll go look into that," Detective Green said, backing out the door.

"You do that.  And while you're at it - release Blaine Anderson, and Kurt Hummel too, if you haven't already.  They're clearly innocent."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I 'think' I have the facts right about the bullets and casings. But if I've screwed that up - please feel free to let me know and I'd be glad to fix any mistakes. I know very little to nothing about bullets or guns. :)
> 
> P.P.S. Well, this takes us up to the point where we know Blaine is innocent and that he will not be blamed for this murder. I will regroup and put my shoulder back to the grindstone tomorrow to write the resolution of the murder plotline, then loop back around to see how Burt, Wes, Oliver, Poppy, and of course Kurt and Blaine handle the fallout from all this. Thanks for reading! :)


	78. Never Let Go

Kurt stared at the wall of his holding cell from his cot, reliving the events of a few hours ago.  

_"Your boyfriend confessed to shooting Stevens in the back of his head," Detective Green had announced smugly.  "That's Second Degree Murder, pal.  So forget about any kind of deal on your charges.  We don't need you."   The words rang in his ears over and over again.  Blaine had confessed to shooting Miles._

_Green had then told him he was under arrest for receipt of stolen property in the fourth degree, which sounded like it wasn't a big deal but actually apparently was a felony and he could go to jail for six months or even a year and a half.  Even worse, they were going to charge him with tampering with evidence, for hiding the gun and jacket Blaine had given him.  He could get three years for that.   They said the district attorney would decide what other charges would be added, and if he would be charged as having some kind of role in helping Blaine with the murder._

_"Tell you what, kid," Detective Green had said.  "You can still get out of this.  We'll open the door for you and walk you out if you give us a statement against Juan.  He's already confessed, but ... we'd be willing to drop all the charges against you and not bring your name to the district attorney, if you give us something we can use at sentencing or trial against him."_

_Detective Green had laid out a piece of paper and a pen.  "You look like a smart kid.  C'mon.  Start writing."_

_He had taken the paper in shaking hands, looking at Marie and his Dad._

_"Detective, let me talk to my client a minute," Marie said, but Kurt suddenly shook his head._

_"I won't.  I won't say anything against him.  I don't know anything about what happened in the house except what he told me, and - and - " he folded the paper up and slid it across the desk.  "I won't hurt him any more than he's been hurt.  I won't."_

_"Kurt.  Just write down the truth," Burt pleaded.  "Write down what you know and help the police, don't you understand, Blaine is an admitted murderer!"_

_"You both told me not to say anything.  Now I agree with that.  I won't make any statement against him.  Just take me wherever you're going to take me."_

After that, they had taken him to be fingerprinted and photographed, they took away his belt and shoelaces and tie, and left him in here until the district attorney reviewed the case and final charges were decided on.  

After a few hours, the numb feeling he had when he heard that Blaine had confessed, was giving way to pain and confusion.  Blaine had killed Miles, which he could have understood in the heat of the moment or to protect himself.  But the police said ... he shot Miles in the back.  And ... Blaine had given him the gun to hold, knowing it was used to kill somebody, and then ran away.  The realization broke his heart.

But.  Blaine came back, though.  Kurt tried to hold on to that as consolation ... Blaine had thought better of it.  He had gotten away clean and could have kept running.  When he found out Kurt was in trouble, he had come back and confessed.  And poor Blaine's life was over now.  He'd suffered so much already, and would continue to be punished for a long time.  

Kurt dropped his head on his knees.  He was cried out.  He hoped that he would be allowed to go home on bond ... at least for a while.  His father was so disappointed in him, but ... he couldn't regret his decision not to help the police build a worse case against Blaine.  

A clang on the bars of his cell jolted him, and he looked up to see the guard unlocking the door.

"What's happening?  Am I going to see the judge now?  Am I being arranged now?"

"It's arraigned, not arranged, and no.  You're free to go.  The district attorney isn't going to charge you with anything.  Your attorney is downstairs taking care of the paperwork.  So let's go."  The guard held the door of the cell open.  

"They're not charging me?"  Kurt got up and went out into the hall, past the guard and down the hall in front of him as directed.  He ended up at a desk, where a bag with his hippo brooch, watch, and the clothes they had taken from him was slapped down with a form.  

"Sign here for your effects."

He signed the paper and took the bag, clutching it against his chest, as he was ushered out to another office-type area.  He saw Marie sitting at a desk with Detective Green, going over some paperwork, and his dad. 

Hurrying over, he ran to his dad's arms.  "Buddy, you aged me about ten years today."

"I'm sorry - Dad, what's happening?  Why are they letting me go?"

Marie looked up. "Come here and sit down, Kurt.  The district attorney doesn't want to press any charges against you.  I've already arranged for your arrest record and your fingerprints to be expunged, and then you can go home with your dad."

"I can?  But what made him decide that?"

Green looked embarrassed, and muttered, "It turns out ... Anderson's confession.  It wasn't ... well.  It didn't hold up.  He didn't kill Stevens ... Stevens was still alive at 1 a.m. this morning.  And Anderson was in a hospital in Cincinnati getting treated for injuries, so.  Someone else shot him.  Blaine ... may have confessed to the shooting to ... protect you."

"He - why would he - what made him think he needed to protect me?"

Marie signed a final document and put the papers in front of Kurt.  "Kurt, let's get this paperwork done first, okay?  There will be plenty of time for explanations."

"Why, Detective?  Why did Blaine confess if he wasn't even there when it happened?"

"We ... used a technique in interrogation ... implied that you might have gone back and killed Miles with the gun he gave you."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt said, welling up.  "Did he - leave already?  You're not charging him with anything now, right?"

"They aren't, Kurt.  Now finish signing," Marie urged.  "Blaine will be let go too.  Don't worry."

Kurt looked down at the elaborate documents Marie had drafted.  "Does Blaine get to have a paper like this too?  Wiping out the arrest and everything?"

"Well, I guess if he asks for the public defender ... it'll be up to that lawyer to draft something."

"Dad, please!  Please, can Marie represent Blaine too?  Please?  He shouldn't have this arrest on his record!"  He turned to Marie.  "Please, Marie.  I'll pay your fee - - it might take a while, but I'll get the money - -"

As he was pleading with Marie, a movement from the hallway caught his eye.  Blaine, carrying a plastic bag like his, was being led into the room toward Detective Carter's desk.  

"Blaine!" Kurt cried out, jumping out of his seat and hurrying over.  Blaine was still battered and bruised, limping, but he was free, and as Kurt rushed toward him, Blaine's eyes lit up and he opened his arms for Kurt to run into, and for a moment that seemed like a lifetime, they clung to each other as if they'd never let go.

 

 


	79. Not Sorry

Kurt stood forehead-to-forehead with Blaine, arms tightly around each other, ignoring the bustle of activity in the squad room.  "I heard what you did.  You - lied and said you killed Miles?  Was that - to protect me?"

"They said that the gun I gave you - they made it sound like you could have gone back and - killed Miles.  I didn't know what to think - I just knew I couldn't let you get in trouble," Blaine whispered.  

"I love you so much," Kurt said fiercely. He examined Blaine's face; the bruising was at a peak now, and the handsome face he adored so, was badly swollen.  "He - hurt you so bad, didn't he?" Kurt whispered.  "You went to the hospital and got treated?"

"I - can we talk about that later?" Blaine said.  "If - you're going back to school, can - can your dad give me a ride too?"

"I'm going back to school.  But - you need to make sure all this is being wiped off your record, first."

Blaine drooped against Kurt, drowsily.  "They gave me some painkillers in medical," he slurred.  "I just want to go home.  To Dalton."

"I'll take you home, honey.  Just a little longer," Kurt said, tenderly stroking the back of Blaine's matted hair and rocking him.  He looked at Marie.  "Please, Marie.  Please help Blaine too."

Marie sighed, and glanced at Detective Green.  "What about it, Sean?  Can I get an agreement to wipe this off Blaine's record too?  It seems only right under the circumstances."

"Fine, Marie," Detective Green grumbled.  "If we agree never to discuss this case again."

Blaine was half-asleep standing up, so Kurt guided him over to a bench.  He hesitated a moment, looking at the wooden surface, and then sank down on it, drawing Blaine to sit gingerly across his lap.  Blaine rested his head on Kurt's shoulder, and sighed contentedly.  "This is okay," he murmured, and Kurt rocked him slightly, waiting for the paperwork to be completed.  

As they sat together, Kurt listening to Blaine's soft breathing, Burt approached and stood in front of them.  

"Blaine ... Kurt ... I - I don't know what to say.  I'm sorry about everything you've both had to go through.  I'm sorry I didn't have more faith in your judgment, Kurt."

"It's okay, Dad," Kurt said.  "You had my best interests at heart."

"So did Blaine," Burt said.  "That was a - pretty big sacrifice you made, Blaine ... and ... I guess you must care about my son a lot."

"Yes," Blaine murmured.  "It's okay.  It's okay now."  He tightened his arms around Kurt's neck and snuggled closer, and Burt smiled slightly.  

The door to the squad room opened behind Burt, and Kurt squinted, as two uniformed policemen escorted a new, handcuffed prisoner in.  Someone he recognized.  The group swept toward the hallway leading to the interrogation rooms, when the prisoner jerked to a stop and looked at the two of them.

"Mrs. Stevens," Kurt breathed.  

The officer tugged her by the arm, and she went stumbling along the hallway, looking back at them over her slender shoulder.  She was ushered into an interrogation room, and Kurt quickly turned back to Blaine.  "Mrs. Stevens was brought in," he whispered.  Blaine was asleep, and jolted awake suddenly.

"What?" he asked, groggily.

"Mrs. Stevens.  She's here.  In handcuffs!"

Blaine looked at him contemplatively.  "I guess she's the next one to be questioned."

"If she's in handcuffs, they must think she did it," Kurt said.  He leaned forward.  "Detective Green - - can we watch her questioning through the two-way glass?  Please?"

"Kurt, I think we'd better get Blaine home," Burt pointed out.   "He looks exhausted."

"Blaine," Kurt whispered.  "Do you want to find out what happened to Miles?"

Blaine's opened his eyes to a glint of golden-brown.  "I don't care where I am as long as you're holding me."

Detective Green allowed Burt, Marie, Kurt and Blaine to go into the room next to Mrs. Stevens'.  Kurt draped his arms around Blaine from behind, and let Blaine lean on him as they watched, and Detective Carter handled the questioning.

"So.  You were scheduled to come back this morning from your work trip, but the airline tells me you caught an earlier flight."

Mrs. Stevens was slumped in her chair, and managed a dull nod.  

"And these items were recovered from your car?"

Detective Carter laid out a plastic bag with a pistol inside.  "This is a .38 special.  No bullets in the chamber.  Found on the floor of your rental car, correct?"

She nodded again.

Pulling on plastic gloves, Detective Carter reached into the box and retrieved a laptop computer, splattered with blood.  "This was in the car as well, correct, ma'am?"   He plugged the dangling end of the power cord into the wall and flipped it open.  "Do you know the password, ma'am?"

"I don't.  But it was open when I came home last night," she said suddenly.  "He was looking at it in his study when I showed up."

"JuanSantos," Blaine murmured.  Detective Green looked at him, curious.  "The password.  It's JuanSantos.  My name, all one word, capital S in the middle."

Detective Green nodded and left the room, and headed next door.  They watched as he bent and whispered to Detective Carter.  Detective Carter nodded and entered the password, and the screen lit up with a lewd photograph of Miles and Blaine at about age 13.  

Mrs. Stevens gasped and covered her face, breaking into sobs.  

"He - he was looking at that when I came in.  He - he had a bag packed, and was going to run away - - he was sure that Jason Baker was going to report him to the administration, the police.  And he said Blaine Anderson would too - - maybe others.  He told me that on the phone."

"You didn't want to lose him?" 

She gasped a laughing sob.  "You can't lose somebody you apparently never had.  No - I didn't want him to run away and leave me to pick up the pieces.  To live with the shame, the pity.  I'd rather see him dead than that."

"Where'd you get the gun, ma'am?"

"It was Miles'.  In his safe.  I just ... slipped in the front ... saw a ... a mess all over - broken glass.  A bullet hole in the front door.  Smears of blood and - - and something else - -on the floor by the back door.   Another bullet hole in the mirror by the back door.  I knew something bad had happened, I just knew it.  And I went and looked in the den.  He was - he was looking at that picture, crying.  Crying over that boy.  And I saw the suitcase out and he was packing to leave before I got back.  I wasn't going to let him off that easy.  I wasn't."

"What happened next, Sylvia?"  Detective Green pushed a glass of water across the table, and a box of tissues.  

"You know what happened.  I went to the safe, and took out the gun.  And I shot him.  Six times.  And then I - took everything - all the filthy pictures and the computer, and I put them in the car and I - I ran."

"Your daughter found the body, you know."

Sylvia's slight body was wracked with sobs.  "I know," she gasped.  "She called me... I ... didn't think she'd go back over there.  She was so angry when she called me from the restaurant.  He'd hit her!  He hit my daughter.  He raped those children," she raged.  "He deserved it!  He deserved to be killed and I'm not sorry!  If I let him go, he'd find a way to keep doing it, over and over!"

"Or you could have called us," Detective Green said, contemptuously.  "Let the law handle it."

"I gave him the justice he deserved," Sylvia said bitterly.  "I spared his victims having to relive it in court.  I did what I had to do."

 


	80. Home is Where

"I'm just not sure I understand why you guys don't want to come home and stay with me and Carol," Burt said a final time, as he stood in the doorway of Blaine's first floor dorm room watching Kurt settle Blaine into his bed.  "Kurt, Blaine isn't recovered from ... what happened, anybody can see that.  It's better if he's at our place, all of us can keep an eye on him in case there's any ... complications - or -"

Kurt arranged the blankets over Blaine, and murmured, "I'll wake you up in an hour or so for your next pill.  The discharge instructions from the hospital say it's important for you to keep ahead of the pain, okay?"

Blaine nodded, smiling weakly up at him, and Kurt patted his shoulder gently.  

"Those instructions have wound care that he's supposed to be doing too, Kurt - -"

"I appreciate the concern, but I promise - I'll take his temperature every two hours, and check the wounds for infection, and if anything develops I'll call an ambulance.  I don't want him sitting in a car any longer than he has to."  

Burt reddened.  "That's - that's kind of a lot for you to handle, Kurt.  I just think he'd be better off at home."

Kurt put a finger to his lips, and gestured to already -sleeping Blaine.   He dropped his hand, resting it on Blaine's while taking care not to disturb him.  "I know it's hard to understand, Dad, but this is where Blaine feels most at home.  It's Friday - he can sleep most of this weekend, and then he wants to go back to class."

"There'll be a lot of gossip for him to contend with.  Maybe he'd be better off just skipping class for the one week before winter break, then coming back afterwards.  He can face it after he's had more time to recover."

Kurt straightened the blanket.  "I hear what you're saying, Dad, and it's not that I don't agree.  But it's up to Blaine, and he wants to be here, to face all that head-on ...and deal with the administration to find out if they're going to let him even come back next semester.  If they have a problem with his keeping his scholarship, then, well, he needs to figure out his next step."

Burt looked at the ground, then sighed.  "Kurt, if the school kicks Blaine out - he has a place to stay with us if he wants it.  I know how special he is to you - and vice versa.  I don't want to see him put back in the system.  He can enroll in McKinley ..." he trailed off.

"Yeah.  McKinley," Kurt said.  He felt so hollow at that thought ... he still felt McKinley was unsafe for him, with Dave Karofsky still there and still holding a grudge.  Dave knew Blaine - and worse, knew that Blaine knew him, the real Dave, and that might put him in Dave's cross-hairs if he went there.  

"One crisis at a time," Kurt said, lying down and curling around Blaine.  "Dad, if he changes his mind and wants to just go to our place, can I call you?"

"Sure," Burt said, sighing and scratching his head under his baseball cap.  "I guess ... I'll call you when I get in."

"Thanks, Dad.  Love you."

"Love you too, kid.  Talk soon."

Burt shut the door and Kurt laid his head on the pillow behind Blaine's.  Hearing the door open again, he said, "Forget something?"  

When there was no answer, he turned to see Oliver and Poppy Stevens standing in the doorway.

 


	81. Sins of the Father

Kurt got up quickly and stood between the bed and the door.  "Oliver ... Poppy ... I - I'm so sorry for your loss," he said.  "Blaine's asleep - he's ... not feeling very well, so - -"

"Kurt?" Blaine said, sitting up in bed with one side of his hair sticking up and the other flattened completely.  "Is it time for my medicine yet?"

"Not yet ... is the pain back?"

"I'm - I'm okay," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, then focusing on Oliver and Poppy.  "Oh.  Poppy - Oliver -"

"Don't say it," Poppy said grimly.  "Don't say you're sorry."  She strode to the other bed and reached underneath, yanking out Oliver's suitcase and throwing it open on top of the bed.

"Maybe we should come back later, if Blaine's sick," Oliver said.  

He looked completely defeated, but Poppy snapped, "When are we supposed to come back, Oliver?  We need to get you packed."

"Packed?  Where are you going?" Blaine mumbled, touching his swollen mouth.  

"We're staying with my grandmother on my mom's side," Poppy said, flinging items from Oliver's desk into the open suitcase.  "We're getting out of here as soon as we can."

Blaine shook his head.  "But why?" 

Poppy turned, astonished.  "You actually are asking me that question?  Our mother killed our father last night.  The whole school knows, both schools do, and they know our father was a sick, disgusting pedophile."

"They - know about that?" 

"That's right.  Word gets out.  Everyone knows about all those boys.  About you."  

Blaine looked troubled, and Poppy bit her lip.  "I just - I can't stay here.  I can't stay where everybody knows, where everybody is going to - hate us," Poppy said, her voice breaking.  "I need to get me and Oliver out of here."

"Nobody will hate you two," Blaine protested.  "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I can't face my friends.  If they don't hate us, they'll feel sorry for us.  I'm taking Oliver and leaving."

Blaine paused, then asked quietly, "What about Wes, though?  He loves you."

Poppy paused, her back to them.  "I can't even face Wes," she said slowly.  "I can't face anybody now.  How can I?  I'm the daughter of a murderer mother and a rapist father.  God, I can't even look at you, knowing what he did to you.  I'm just not strong enough to - deal with hating them and - grieving them - and dealing with school.  I'm not."

She turned, her face streaked with tears.  "And frankly?  I don't understand how you can come back here, after all that's happened.  I'd rather die if I were you."

"You're not him," Kurt said sternly.  "And if you're in such a hurry, why don't you just go.  I can pack the rest of Oliver's things and send them after him."  

Poppy stopped, looked at the disarray in the suitcase, and sat down, crying, on the bed.  Oliver finally moved from the spot in the doorway and put his arm around her.  

Blaine said, helplessly, "I'm so sorry.  Guys, I - I'm so sorry.  But you shouldn't be ashamed.  This has nothing to do with you.  You're victims too.  Take a few days, but - don't run away. That never solves anything, I should know."

Oliver nodded, and whispered, "We'll have to think about it, Blaine - but for now - I think leaving is best.  C'mon, Poppy.  Kurt's right.  We can wait to get the rest.  Let's go."


	82. One Thing at a Time

Kurt spent all day Friday helping Blaine with his post-operative routine, starting with a trip to the pharmacy near the school, to pick up all the supplies listed in the discharge instructions for Blaine, still conked out in his dorm.  Despite his earlier show of confidence with Burt, Kurt was a little taken aback at the complicated list and all the things that needed to be done.  He was doubly thankful that Blaine had come back, because, he realized, Blaine would never have been able to take care of these things on his own while on the run from the police.  

He laid the various products out on the pharmacy check-out counter along with Blaine's insurance card, and consulted the discharge instructions a final time to make sure he had everything they would need.  Evidently Blaine had the packing removed yesterday morning, and by now, would be allowed to have a high fiber diet. He needed to take a stool softener and drink at least ten glasses of water a day.  There was another prescription pill for pain, a fiber supplement, and various ointments for pain and to prevent infection.

And, to top all of this off, Blaine needed to sit in a few inches of very warm, medicated water at least three times a day.  There was no tub at the dorm, so Kurt had to find a special, shallow basin for Blaine to take care of that.  On top of these "sitz baths," Blaine would have to take a shower, or at least rinse the area with a small "peri bottle," every time he ... had to "go," which given all the fiber supplements and water would probably be more often than usual.  There was the thermometer to monitor for fever.  Kurt had picked up over the counter medicine for pain and swelling after the first few days. There were also gauze pads to catch any ... drainage, that would need to be changed until that situation tapered off.  Kurt started getting nervous looking at the rather large pile of complicated supplies, and considered chickening out and calling his dad after all.

Walking home with his pharmacy bags, he sadly reflected that for all the post-operative care and treatment to heal the wounds in Blaine's body, this part of the healing process would be relatively easy.  He doubted the trauma to Blaine's mind - the near-death experience, the brutal assault, everything that had happened since - would be as easily mended.  But one thing at a time.

 


	83. Escort You Down

Taking care of Blaine proved less taxing than Kurt had feared.  Blaine was utterly biddable as a patient, and followed his instructions to the letter, getting up to take his medications, eat, and take care of his surgical wounds according to Kurt's hand-written schedule.  And though Kurt had been afraid at first that Blaine would be averse to being touched, to the contrary, Blaine was eager to be held and cuddled, whispering his contentment before dropping off under the influence of his Percocet after a minute or two.  

Kurt, tired out from his own ordeal, napped with him at first, waking up at the alarm to make Blaine eat something, take his meds, and go take his bath, but after that, he only held Blaine until he fell asleep and then got up to attend to his own schoolwork as best he could.  It was no trouble to look after Blaine. And he was glad to have the chance to baby Blaine a bit.

Late that afternoon, while Blaine slept soundly on the bed and Kurt was toiling over his midterm history paper at Oliver's abandoned desk, a knock came on the door.  Kurt frowned and looked up from his computer at Blaine, who was stirring slightly but still half-asleep.

"You stay down, Blaine, I'll tell whoever that is that you're resting," Kurt said in a hushed voice as he rose and opened the door.  He paused a moment.  "Wes."

"Hi, Kurt," Wes said.  "How's Blaine?"

"Not great.  It's been a really bad couple of days, so ... he needs his rest, I'm afraid."

"Wes?" Blaine called out from the bed.  "Come on in."

Kurt rolled his eyes and held the door open the rest of the way for Wes to come in.   Wes winced at the sight of Blaine's bruised face, but bit his lip, and averted his eyes.  "I'm ... here in two capacities," Wes started.

"Oh for the love of - what do you want, Wes?" Kurt said irritably, shutting the door.

"Well.  The Warblers wanted to extend their well wishes, and their hope that you'll be well enough to come back to class and the club very soon.  It was felt it would be best to send an emissary rather than mob you.  Here," he handed over an envelope.  "This is a card with all the fellows' personal messages."

Blaine sat up and looked at the card, covered in scrawled, boyish handwriting.   "They all wrote a little note.  That's nice."  He set the card on his night stand.  "You said you were here in two capacities?  What's the other one?"

Wes looked uncomfortable.  "The Dean and the Board of Directors are having an emergency meeting about what's happened.  I'm president of the school body, and head monitor of the dorm ... and I ... I knew Mr. Stevens.  So they pulled me out of class and they asked me to - - request that you come down to the meeting room and ... meet with them."

"Now?" Kurt asked, disbelieving.  At Wes' nod, Kurt spluttered, "Are they fucking kidding?  He just got back today.  Blaine needs to sleep!  They can meet with him Monday. Oh, no, Blaine, get back in bed."

Blaine was at his closet, selecting one of his uniforms.  "I might need a little help getting into this," he asked quietly.  "Wes, can you let them know I'll be down as soon as I can?"

"They asked me to escort you down immediately," Wes said reluctantly.  "I'll wait outside while you get dressed."


	84. Just One More Thing

The Dalton Academy Board of Directors met in a conference room in the administration building, next door to Dalton Hall, where the boys' dormitory was housed.  Kurt insisted on going along with Blaine and Wes, carrying a kit he prepared containing pain and other medications, extra gauze and rinsing bottle, and even a change of uniform pants and underwear, 'just in case.'"  

"Kurt, I'm sure the meeting won't be long, and it's only next door," Blaine said, smiling.  

"Better to be prepared for any eventuality."  Kurt put a water bottle and one of the plastic bags from the pharmacy in the messenger bag, and folded the flap over.  "There.  Read to go, and I'll carry this for you.  No arguments."

"I wouldn't dream of trying.  Okay, Wes, lead the way."

On arriving at the administration building, an elderly receptionist rose and accompanied them to a set of double doors.  Opening them, she revealed a spacious room with a long mahogany table set with high-backed leather chairs.  The eight chairs on the opposite side of the table, facing the doorway, were occupied by nine elderly or middle aged men.   At the far end, at the head of the table, an old man who was exactly the image of Miles in thirty years, presided.   Kurt noticed framed paintings of men, all vaguely resembling Miles, all from different eras lining the walls.  Over the head of the table, hung the oldest portrait, of a man who looked almost identical to Miles except for his 19th century hairstyle and clothing.  Kurt gulped, and clutched Blaine's hand.  

Wes cleared his throat.  "Chairman Stevens ... Board Members ... this is Blaine Anderson," Wes said, indicating.  "And his friend, Kurt Hummel.  Blaine and Kurt, Mr. Nathaniel Dalton Stevens, the Chairman of the Board of Directors."

Kurt half-expected Wes to bow, but he simply gestured to the elderly man at the head of the table.   As Wes was speaking, a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit entered the room, along with the Dean.  

"That'll be all, Wes.  Thank you.  Please return to your class," the Dean said, taking her seat at the foot of the table.  Wes and the receptionist backed out of the doors, shutting them behind them with an audible click.

The other man remained standing, holding a long manila folder.  Approaching Blaine and Kurt, he extended a hand to each of them in turn.  "I take it you're Blaine ... and you must be Kurt," he said.  "I'm Douglas Dalton ... I'm Miles' cousin, and the attorney for the Board and the school."

When he had dropped Blaine's hand, Douglas went to stand beside Nathaniel.  "On behalf of the Board, and our family ... please allow me to extend our ... concern ... with regard to the allegations made against my cousin, in your regard."

"Concern," Blaine repeated.  "About  _allegations_."  

"Yes.  We ... are shocked, and of course upset, to learn of these claims ... on top of having to deal with his death, particularly in such a violent manner."

Blaine didn't say anything, but sat staring.

"Well.  We understand that ... your application for admission, and for your scholarship here ... contained a number of false statements, as well as a number of material omissions.  In an ordinary case, this would result in expulsion."  Douglas paused.  "Of course, under the circumstances, including your excellent academic record ... the school would prefer not to take such a step."

Looking surprised and relieved, Blaine let out a breath.  "I'm so glad to hear that, sir."

"And of course, if you wish to remain as a student here, your scholarship benefits would remain undisturbed ..."

"Thank you," Blaine interrupted.  "Mr. Dalton ... thank you so much.  That's such a weight off my mind ... and ... I'd like to say I'm ... sorry for your loss.  I know Miles - Mr. Stevens - was a member of your family.  Especially you, Mr. Chairman."

The ancient man's eyes flickered slightly.  "Thank you."

After a pause, Blaine looked around.  "Um.  Thank you for calling me in to tell me this.  Unless there's anything else, I - -"

"Actually, Blaine, there is just one more thing we need to discuss with you if you're choosing to remain here as a scholarship student," Douglas said, smoothly.  He laid the folder down in front of Blaine. 


	85. Good Name

"Blaine, I'm sure you appreciate how painful all these allegations, and Miles' death, have been for the Board - personally as well as professionally.  And that these allegations ... if made public, would be devastating to the reputation of the school itself.  I'm sure you wouldn't want the school's reputation to be damaged in any way... and I imagine, you'd rather not make these matters public for our own sake, of course."  Douglas offered a kind smile.  

Blaine flipped the folder open and sat staring at the contents.  

"Let me explain those, Blaine.  They're standard legalese, but summarized ... this is an agreement that Dalton will not expel you or withdraw your scholarship based on the contents of your application.  In exchange for room, board, tuition ... and a new stipend of $50,000," Douglas said, pointing at various portions of the agreement, "you will promise in return, not to disclose any negative information about Miles Stevens or Dalton Academy in the future.  It's called a non-disparagement agreement, and it's really quite commonplace."

"What if the police want to know about what happened to me?" Blaine asked.  Kurt was surprised, but impressed, at the bluntness of the question.

"Well, you would agree not to decline to answer those questions.  The agreement states that you will notify us if the police or any other law enforcement or government agency seeks you to answer questions or give testimony ... and we will provide legal counsel to you in order to deal with that.  That's just a technicality of course, since MIles has passed away and the police won't have a suspect to pursue."

Blaine nodded slowly.  "I see.   But what about my therapist?  I need to talk about what happened to me to get better."

"Excellent point, Blaine, but you can see here," Douglas said, turning a page and pointing.  "We also will agree to pay for your counseling, and there is an exception for any communications to your counselor.  As long as they sign the confidentiality agreement at Exhibit 3," he explained, turning the page and pointing at a form.  

"You've thought of everything," Blaine said, flipping the pages.  "There's so much here."

"Yes, and if you'd like to take winter break to have it looked at by your own lawyer, that's perfectly fine, and in fact we encourage you to do so," Douglas said.  "Though we must ask that you not return to the school until the agreement is in place.  We'll be glad to pay for a hotel for you to stay at while you're on break thinking it over.  And ... since you're 17, we'll need you to ratify the contract when you're 18.  If you void the contract, or refuse to ratify it, it states in here that the decision regarding expulsion will be reconsidered at that time."

"You'll be 18 in the middle of senior year," Kurt said under his breath to Blaine.  "That means you can't change your mind after that."

Continuing to turn the pages, Blaine didn't answer.  

"What happens if the school thinks Blaine disparaged them?" Kurt asked.  

"I'm sure that won't happen," Douglas said.  "But there are liquidated damages and penalties if a court decides that the contract was violated."

"This piece here.  This general release," Blaine said suddenly.  He looked up at Douglas.  "This says Dalton and the Board don't admit any wrongdoing or liability on their part or on the part of Miles Stevens.  What does this mean, what is this paper for?"  He held up a single-spaced, two-page document.

"That means you agree not to sue them," Kurt said.  

Blaine stood up, shoving the chair back.  The silence in the air bristled with tension, as he looked first at the lawyer, then each of the men in turn, then the Dean.  "You're trying to buy me off?"

"Blaine, c'mon, sit down.  It's not like that.  The school just is seeking some legal protection, in exchange for keeping you on."

"Despite your own fraudulent conduct," Chairman Stevens said suddenly.

"Nathaniel.  Let me handle this," Douglas snapped back.  "Blaine ... we think of the students here as family.  But a family doesn't air its dirty laundry in public - am I right?  Let us make up for what happened to you, without dragging the school down with Miles."

Blaine didn't sit down.  He stared Douglas in the eye, then picked up the folder and turned, walking toward the door.

"So you're thinking about it?" Douglas called after him.  "We can arrange for that hotel for you - and a nurse, if you'd like - - while you have that looked over."

Blaine stopped, breathing hard, with his hand on the door.  "You sons of bitches."

Kurt had picked up the bag and was by Blaine's side.  "Blaine ... let's think this over.  Miles is dead, you can put this in the past and move on if you - -"

"No, Kurt.  I can't put it in the past.  It's part of who I am, it's my life.  And I won't be part of a cover-up."

Chairman Stevens stood up with the help of a cane, and then leaned on the table, pointing the stick at Blaine.  "Listen.  Don't be a fool, Blaine.  My son is dead.  There's nothing to be gained from dragging his name in the mud, and ruining this school - -"

"You made a mistake, Mr. Dalton."  Blaine held up the document.  "I was impressed with you at first, drafting all this in a day.  But you didn't have to, did you?  This is something you had ready on your computer - from the last time."  

Douglas went pale, looking anxiously at Chairman Stevens.  "I - I don't - -"

"You cut and pasted most of this.  But you forgot to proofread it carefully.  You left Michael O'Leary's name in on page 5."  Blaine looked angrily at all of them.  "You all knew what Miles was.  You knew.  You paid off Michael, and you let Miles just keep right on teaching here.  How many others were there,' he shouted.  "How many boys did you help him rape?"

"You damn fool, Douglas - -" Chairman Stevens said.  

"Don't blame him.  I wouldn't have signed this anyway," Blaine said.  "But now I'm taking this to the police, and they can find out just how many times you covered up for him."

"Think," Chairman Stevens said, desperately.  "Think, Blaine.  You're throwing away everything, to make some point that's ... that's moot now.  My son is dead.  He - he can't hurt anyone again.  We did what we thought was - was best.  He promised to get counseling - - "  Suddenly, he looked like a tired, frightened, sad old man.  "Please.  Please just sign this.  Make it go away, let me save my son's good name ..."

Blaine looked contemptuously at him and swept out without another word.  Bursting with pride, Kurt scurried after him.  

 

 


	86. What You Came Here to Do

Blaine slammed his way into his dorm room, Kurt a half-step behind.   To Kurt's dismay, Blaine knelt stiffly on the floor and crouched to drag his Warbler duffel bag out from under the bed.

"What are you doing?" Kurt squeaked.  "Blaine, get up off there!"

Blaine responded by flinging the duffel bag on the bed and unzipping it, then turning to his closet and stripping off his uniform, dropping the blazer, the tie, the shirt on the floor, followed by the belt, shoes and pants.  He stood in his underwear before the closet, rummaging before he jerked a polo shirt off its hanger and over his head.

"Why are you changing into street clothes?  Why did you take out your bag?"

Pulling a pair of jeans up, Blaine snapped, "Because I'm leaving before they have me thrown out of here.  You heard them.  I'm expelled if I don't sign that paper."

"They didn't actually say that," Kurt pointed out reasonably, going to Blaine's closet and selecting a cardigan.  "Put this on, it goes well with that color."

Blaine jammed his arms into the cardigan, and picked up a pair of casual loafers.  "I suppose I should be color-coordinated for my new life on the street," he said bitterly.  He went over to the desk chair to sit down and put them on.  "Once I go to the police, I'll ... I don't know what I'll do next.  Maybe head south, or ... or west.  To California."  He picked up his laptop computer and went to put it in his duffel bag.

"You're not fully recovered from your surgery," Kurt objected, pulling the bag from Blaine's hands.  "Will you calm down?  Nothing has to happen today!  Sit and let's think about this."

Despite his fury, Blaine was looking tired, and he seemed a bit relieved to be guided to his bed, to lie down.  "Let me lie down with you, baby," Kurt whispered, and as expected, Blaine melted into a trembling, weepy ragdoll in his arms on the bed.

"They knew Miles was a predator," Blaine sniffled.  "They may not have known about me, but - he was only at the school, and not in jail, because they covered it up."  

"I got that part.  And I was super-proud of how you figured that out and told them all off.  They're probably shaking in their walkers right now, the old jerks," Kurt said grimly.  "More than usual, I mean."

Blaine gave a gurgling chuckle.  "I was pretty awesome though."

"You were.  But ... let's take our time with considering your options. We can go to the police first, and then - -"

"That's the point.  If I leave, and go to the police, I'd better bring everything that's mine with me because I guarantee you my dorm key is being deactivated as we speak."

"Maybe, maybe not.  They have to weigh their options carefully.  They know you can sue them now.  You have a pretty airtight case.  And frankly that's the least of their worries.  Who knows what the police might do with this information.  I think we need to have a plan."  Kurt smiled at a loose curl that was popping out of the gel hold at his temple.  "This guy's making a break for it," he murmured, pulling at it.

"Hey," Blaine protested.  "He needs to get in line with the others."  Blaine tried to smooth it down, and Kurt couldn't resist kissing those ridiculous, adorable, pouting lips.  

"Listen.  Why don't we just ... take my dad up on his offer to start winter break early?  I can call him to come get us.  We can be packed and ready to go by the time he gets up here.  We can stop at the police station on the way and tell the police about what just happened, show them that agreement with Michael's name in it."

 

_ * _ * _ * _ * _ * _ * _

 

Detective Carter looked up from his desk and groaned at their approach. "Aw, hell, no.  What are you two doing back here?  Don't you know you made a clean getaway?"  He rose and extended a hand to shake Blaine's.  "Glad to see you up and around, kid.  Mr. Hummel, Kurt," he acknowledged.

"But seriously," Detective Green said from the desk facing Carter's.  "What brings you guys back in?"

A bald little man with glasses was standing nearby, paying close attention, but Blaine just plowed ahead with his mission.  "I have reason to believe the Board of Directors and their attorney knew Miles was abusing children."  He took out the agreement and handed it to Detective Green.  "They tried to get me to sign this release and agreement.  You see how it has another kid's name in it?  Michael O'Leary.  I think that they paid him off, and this is a redraft of his agreement.  Michael O'Leary was one of the scholarship recipients - the one right before me - - and at least one of the SD cards had his initials and the year of his scholarship on it.   He never responded when we tried to contact him."

"I went into the library and checked out the 2004 yearbook," Kurt said.  "Maybe you can photocopy the page with his picture on it, then compare it to the pictures on the computer?"  He reached into his bag, withdrawing the yearbook and handing it to Detective Carter.  "And this is a list of all the scholarship winners and the years.  You can probably cross-reference that.  I don't know if any of them will cooperate, but maybe some of them will.  I don't know if there's anything you can charge the board members with, but ... it just seems really wrong what they did.  Letting him keep teaching, I mean."

The man with the glasses had inched closer as they talked, and was now standing over Detective Carter's shoulder, looking at the list.  "Looks like you should hire these boys to help with your investigations, Chris.  They'd probably end up putting you out of business."

"Shut up, Bob," Detective Carter said irritably.  

"I'm Bob Steinberg," the man said, extending his hand and shaking Blaine's.  Looking at Kurt, he said, "There most certainly is something I can charge those board members with.  There's a statutory requirement that school authorities, teachers ... a whole laundry list of people ... report any suspected child abuse.  If these Board members knew of a sexual relationship between a teacher and a student - they had a duty to report it."

"So you'll be looking into this?" Blaine said, looking strangely sad.  

"I definitely will."  Bob looked quizzically at Blaine.  "Does that bother you?"

"No ... I know they need to answer for what they've done," Blaine said heavily.  "I just ... loved that school a lot ... they said if it got out, it would ruin the school. I ... can't help but think about the other guys, and how they'll feel about the school going under."

"Those fucking bastards," Detective Green muttered, and Blaine looked startled.  Detective Green leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.  "Blaine, they're trying to guilt trip you to save their own asses.  If the school suffers from this information, that's on them, not you and not any one of those children that got hurt."

"It just changes so much about how I feel about Dalton.  I thought it was a safe haven ... a family.  But now ..."

Bob looked up from the copy of the agreement, and sighed.   "Blaine, I can only imagine, you must feel ... a lot of things.  Betrayed, confused ... guilty, even.  I see that all the time with crime victims of all kinds, but especially children abused by people they trusted.  I just want you to know ... that the good things about Dalton - the good teachers, your friendships.  Those are all completely valid and unchanged.  In time, I hope you'll be able to separate the things that you love about the school, from the bad things you're finding out now.  Don't let these assholes take those memories away from you.  I'm a Dalton boy myself.  And I'll do everything I can to take these jerks down ... if the school goes down with it, that'll make me sad, but ... I have a feeling that once the house is cleaned, things will bounce back.  It's too good a school not to."

Blaine nodded, looking somewhat comforted, and Kurt put an arm around him.  "But for now, let's go to my house," he whispered.  "And just rest.  You've done what you came here for."

 


	87. Considerations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - skipping ahead about a week, this is before Christmas. I also am adopting the show's canon that Santana decided to blackmail Dave to agree not to harass Kurt, and the meeting that took place in the show in April is moved back to December (just to clarify as well - in this story, in my mind, Kurt was out of McKinley and at Dalton very early in the year, so he's known Blaine for a few months now). Thanks!

Carol having assigned them the task of adding their personal signature and holiday greeting to the first-ever mailing of the Hudson-Hummel Christmas cards, and then preparing them for mailing, Finn and Kurt had settled into a practiced system.  Kurt would sign, then place each card in a pile for Finn to laboriously block-print his name and message.  Finn would put the card into a previously addressed envelope and seal it, placing these into another pile.  Kurt would add the stamp and personalized return address stickers with the family's new name and home address.  They were making good headway when Carol and Burt appeared in the doorway to the dining room where the assembly line was in progress.

"Boys?"

Finn and Kurt looked up from the piles.  "What's up, Mom?" Finn asked.

"Since Blaine just left for therapy, we thought this'd be a good time to talk about something we've been discussing.  About Blaine."

Kurt looked at Finn, who looked back, shrugging.  "Sure," Kurt said.  

Carol sat down opposite Finn, with Burt next to her facing Kurt across the table.  

"This is about something that should really be a unanimous family decision," Burt said finally.  "So.  Here it is."  He looked at Carol, who picked up from there.

"We understand from Blaine's social worker that he's eligible for placement in a foster home or group home," Carol continued.  "We get the impression ... Blaine doesn't want to return to Dalton, especially since you won't be going there now that the situation with Dave Karofsky's been resolved."

"Right," Kurt said, blinking.  

"So.  We know how much you care about Blaine ... and how much he's been through already," Burt said.  "What we're proposing is that we ask Blaine if we can be his foster parents."  

Kurt started to squeal in excitement, but Burt held up a hand.  "Wait.  Before we say anything to Blaine about this, we have to be in agreement about it.  All four of us," he added, looking at Finn, who shrugged.  

"It's fine by me," Finn said, picking up a card and sealing it into an envelope.  "Blaine's a good guy."

"Well, now, that's a nice sentiment, but this isn't a snap decision, Finn.  Blaine is ... a sweet kid, but there's a lot of emotional damage there.  He's an alcoholic; he's been abused.  As he goes through therapy, there could be some ... emotional reactions that may or may not be easy to deal with."  Burt looked at Kurt, pinning him down with his stare.  "And I know you guys are in a honeymoon stage right now.  But if we commit to being foster parents, that means we commit.  Not that we commit, only as long as you and Blaine are a couple.  That's not fair to Blaine."

"We're going to be a couple forever," Kurt insisted, but Burt sighed and shook his head.

"Kiddo.  If we agree to foster Blaine, then he's your brother and our son.  He will be treated the same as you and Finn.  He'll be our responsibility," he said, pointing back and forth with his thumb at Carol.  "We're agreed that we're committed to that.  So ... if things end up not working out between the two of you, then he will still be your brother - -"

"Ew, man, gross," Finn interrupted. 

"- and our son.  We can't send him away if one of you decides to break up.  And we have to make that perfectly clear to both of you - that if we go through with this, he has a home here as long as he wants it whether you two are dating or not."

Kurt nodded.  "Of course, I agree to that."

"A couple more things you'll need to agree to," Burt said sternly.  "This isn't an invitation to live together.  You will respect the house and sleep in separate beds, and conduct yourselves under the same rules we've imposed on you up to now.  Complete appropriateness at all times.  Agreed?"

"Of course!"  Kurt said indignantly.  "There's nothing to worry about as far as that's concerned, Dad." He paused. "I'm - - I'm not sure Blaine will be interested in any ... in appropriateness, anyway, for a long time.  If ever.  Not after ... not after what happened at the end with Miles."  He sadly picked at the stamps, and Finn punched him lightly on the shoulder in sympathy.

"That's between you two," Burt said, grimacing.  "But I suggest you _both_ think about this for a few days, consider all the angles and what this might mean.  The foster care system will pay for some things and give us a small allowance for him, but there could need to be some budget tightening if we have all three of you instead of just two.  The place will be more crowded.  And again, Blaine ... he has problems, and if we take him on officially, we'll have to support him as a family in his healing process.  That could be more difficult than any of us realize right now, depending on how he does in therapy and all that."

"Okay, Burt," Finn said.  "All I know is - - that kid really's had it bad.  And he needs a break.  And this guy needs his man around, not sent off who knows where," he said, grinning at Kurt.  "I think we've got room for him here."

Burt nodded.  "Well, think it over.  And neither of you mention it to Blaine until we have another chance to talk.  Blaine will be having another therapy session in two days.  We can reconvene then."

 

 


	88. Christmas Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay warnings for extreme corniness and fluff but I think Blaine has earned it in this story!

Blaine woke up with a start when his bedroom door flew open and Finn burst into his room.  "Wake up, buddy!  It's CHRISTMAS MORNING," he bellowed.  Blaine looked at the digital clock beside the bed.  

"I guess technically," he grumped.  "It's four o'clock, Finn!"

"The rule is not before four," Finn said.  "Come on, let's get downstairs and open presents!"

Dragging himself out of bed, Blaine reached for his robe.  "All right, already.  Geeze, how old are you, five?"

"Let's go," Finn grabbed him by one arm and hauled him toward the stairs, pounding on Kurt's door on the way.  "Get up, Kurt!  It's Christmas!  Merry Christmas, little brother!"

Blaine felt vindicated when Kurt appeared at the doorway with his hair standing on end and a murderous glare on his face.  "Finn.  It is four o'clock in the morning.  I didn't even know there WAS a four in the morning.  Couldn't you have waited till six at least?"

"No.  No, and you know why!" 

Kurt's expression changed and softened.  "Okay.  But you can be the one to wake up our parents, not me.  And if they tell you it's too early, then we all go back to bed.  Deal?"

"Deal.  Mom!   Burt!" Finn yelled, and after a moment, the door opened to the master bedroom.  

"I kinda thought we'd get a little more sleep at you guys' ages," Burt muttered, rubbing his eyes and stumbling out.  

Carol came out behind him, tying off her robe.  "This is all Finn," she said, putting an arm around Burt's waist.  "Believe me.  We're lucky it's this late."

The five of them trooped down the stairs, and Blaine was surprised to see the room looking very different from when he'd gone to bed at nearly midnight, after a Christmas-cookie-fueled viewing of "It's a Wonderful Life" with the family.  The tree was surrounded by large piles of gifts, and he hung back, a little uncertain what to do while the family opened all those.  He remembered in time, that he had gotten Kurt several very nice, tasteful presents that he was sure Kurt would love ... and had scored a good deal on a present for each of his hosts and for Finn.  He had put them under the tree, but he could see they weren't in the same place he had left them last night.  He walked around the tree, trying to find his pile of gifts for the others, before noticing that each pile had a stocking on top.  He could see his presents to Kurt mixed in with the presents under Kurt's stocking, and craned his neck to confirm that his present got into each of the piles ... and stopped short.  There was a pile with a stocking with "Blaine" on it!  Right next to Kurt's!

His jaw dropped and he saw Kurt looking slyly at him.  "Well, sit down," he invited, patting the rug next to him.  

Blaine dropped down to sit next to Kurt.  He felt a little overwhelmed; there was traditional Christmas music playing now, and Carol was setting a tray of bagels out on the coffee table, and Finn was practically jumping up and down by his pile of presents.  

"So.  Welcome everyone to the first annual Christmas morning for the Hudson-Hummel family," Carol announced.  "Opening the floor for suggestions on how to proceed?"

"We just open our presents all at once," Finn proposed.  After a spirited debate, it was decided that they would take turns pairing off, with each pair opening their presents to one another at the same time.  And in that way, they made their way through the piles of gifts, until at last there was just one box left in Blaine's pile of presents, and no one else had any left.

"Did one of you miss this?" Blaine asked, picking it up.  He turned it over, then right side up again. It was really light.  He looked up to see all four of the others smiling broadly.  

"That one is from all of us, to you, Blaine," Carol said gently.  "Go ahead."

Blaine looked down at the box, confused for a moment, but then carefully pulled on the ribbon to untie it.  He lifted the lid, and there was red and green tissue paper folded over the contents.  Moving the paper, he saw that it contained an envelope.  A gift certificate, maybe?

He set the box down and pulled the envelope out to open it.  He unfolded a heavy piece of ivory linen cardstock, the type used for formal wedding invitations.  He sat staring at it, blankly, because for some reason his vision was blurring.

"Do you need me to read it to you?"  Kurt asked softly.  "Looks like you have something in your eye."  He sat next to Blaine and put his arm around him, leaning over to read, "The Hudson Hummel Family Requests the Honor of Becoming Your Foster Family."   He rubbed Blaine's arm tenderly.  "It says RSVP here ... but you can take a little time to think about it if  you- - "

"Yes," Blaine burst out, with a sob, and turned to bury his face in Kurt's neck.  "Yes, I ... I want to stay here with all of you."


	89. Chapter 89

"Lotta changes around here in the past couple of months," Finn observed over the breakfast table.  "Got a new step-dad, a new gay brother, and now a second new gay brother.  That's a lot to take in."

"Yeah, you've had a real gay rollercoaster ride," Kurt said, a little sarcastically.  

"Hey, I didn't mean it was bad.  It's awesome.  You know that, Kurt - Blaine," Finn said.  "I went from being an only child of a single mom, to a family of five!  And now that Karofsky's off your case, Kurt, it'll be smooth sailing at McKinley from now on.  Not to mention, with both of you in New Directions backing up me and Rachel, we'll be unstoppable."

"Or maybe the two of you can back us up," Blaine said slyly.

Kurt started in his seat, partly in pleased surprise that Blaine was giving Finn a little brotherly teasing ... and partly because Blaine's foot was slowly making its way up his thigh.  

"What do you think, Kurt?" Blaine asked innocently, taking a sip of his orange juice.  "Are Rachel and Finn's days as _the_  power couple at McKinley numbered?"  The foot had reached a little too high to ignore, and Kurt bulged his eyes as a warning at Blaine, who pouted and dropped his foot back to the floor.  

"Well, it's all good for the club to have lots of voices," Finn said, finishing off the box of Raisin Bran and rattling it.  "Mom!  We're out of Raisin Bran!"

"Finn!  That was a new box!  How much did you eat?" Carol rebuked him.  She took the box and ruffled his hair.  "But then, you are a growing boy," she said.

"You're going to be in the bathroom until after Glee practice is over," Kurt predicted.  

"Okay, boys.  Here's your lunches," Carol said, handing two paper lunch bags to Kurt and Blaine, and a grocery bag to Finn.  "And some money for a milk or juice."

Kurt smiled to see Blaine happily gazing at his lunch bag and taking his pocket money from Carol with a shy thank you.  "It's like on television," Blaine marveled.  "Like one of those breakfast food commercials."

"Exactly.  On all those commercials, there are three brothers who aren't related to each other at all by blood, and two of whom are also dating," Kurt teased.  "We're so Joe Q. Average."

"I'm just happy," Blaine said, placing his lunch carefully in his messenger bag.  "It's been a long time since ... well.  I'm just happy."  He hooked his arm around Kurt's waist and tugged.

 "C'mon.  McKinley High School awaits."


End file.
